


If I Had a Heart

by Clitler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Analingus, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Blood Drinking, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Bottoming from the Top, Castiel Gives Oral Sex, Cockslut Crowley, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Being an Asshole, Dean Winchester Cooks, Dean's Demon Powers, Dean's dirty mouth, Demon Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Anal Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Fucking, Graphic Description, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, Let me know if I did, Lovey-Dovey Sam and Cas, M/M, Making Love, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Polyamory, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sastiel - Freeform, Sexual Biting, Sexual Coercion, Shower Sharing, Sibling Incest, Sweet Sam Winchester, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean Winchester, Switch Sam Winchester, Telepathy, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Top Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform, Wincestial - Freeform, brief mention of suicidal ideation, i probably forgot something, oh boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clitler/pseuds/Clitler
Summary: Knight of Hell Dean sets his sights on his brother and the angel, Castiel.This is the reworked and expanded version of the 'Passive' storyline from my Destiel Playlist.I suck at summaries, scared I'll give too much away.  Just read the tags.Tags to be added with each chapter, trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. If I Had a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings, Ch. 1: Graphic depiction of dub/con sex

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 1: If I Had a Heart

 

 

“ ** _This will never end cause I want more / More, give me more, give me more / If I had a heart, I could love you / If I had a voice, I could sing / After the night when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings_** ”

-Fever Ray, ‘If I Had a Heart’

 

           

The idea came to him while he was pounding Crowley’s tender ass into hamburger in that awful B & B in Schenectady, of all fucking places.  After he’d thrown the third woman off the bed (only because she, like the last two, couldn’t walk well enough to leave on her own when he was done with her, not because he’d killed her) and she was crawling on her belly toward the door, Crowley had sauntered back in, half-empty tumbler of Macallan held up like the woman might have the energy or wherewithal to snatch it from his fat fingers, and looked down at Dean’s latest bedmate like she was a dog turd left on the Aubusson during High Tea.  He’d turned his face to Dean as he stepped off the wide bed, now a wasteland of tangled silk sheets soaked in an ungodly amount of bodily fluids.  Dean had walked up to him and plucked the whiskey out of his hand as the self-proclaimed King of Hell had been awestruck by Dean’s half-hard dick, dripping with the last woman’s juices (and his own).  Crowley’s nostrils had flared as Dean threw back the rest of the liquor and tossed the crystal tumbler in the general direction of the bar.  It thunked into the plush carpet and rolled a few inches as Crowley’s eyelids fluttered on the edge of slipping shut from the reek of sex and power that hung around Dean like a miasma.

 

“Send in the next one,” Dean commanded flatly as he turned toward the bed.

 

“That _was_ the next one,” Crowley mumbled.  Dean scoffed and detoured to the bathroom instead.

 

“Lame, Crowley,” Dean tossed over his shoulder and he could swear Crowley’s eyes on his retreating ass felt like having an uncle bad-touch him at the family Christmas party.  Not that he’d had any uncles, or family Christmases, for that matter, but knowing Crowley was gazing at his ass with such undisguised lust that it practically had its own wavelength was skeeving him out no end. “Guess I’ll have to skip out, then, find my own entertainment,” he called from the bathroom as he cleaned up at the gold-plated sink.  God, he hated all this ostentatious bullshit.  He thought he’d head to that karaoke bar he’d seen on the drive over here, sitting in the back of the Town car Crowley had sent for him yesterday.

 

Crowley waited until he came out of the bathroom to respond, his eyebrow raised in challenge, “Or you could stay for the main course,” he purred, loosening his tie.  Dean barked a laugh but stilled when he realized Crowley was serious, his tie discarded, and his shoes already gone as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly.

 

“You want me to fuck _you_?” Dean asked, incredulous.

 

“Oh, I was thinking more the other way around.   I didn’t choose this vessel for his undoubtedly excellent fashion sense alone,” Crowley preened as he dropped his slacks and showed off his vessels rather large dick.  Dean burst out laughing, full-body, bent double, knee-slapping laughter.  Crowley’s face turned to stone.

 

“You…want…to…fuck… _me_! Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Crowley! That is the funniest shit I think I’ve ever heard!”  Dean had to sit down he was laughing so hard.  Crowley’s face had gone ten shades of pissed off as he stepped out of his pants and advanced on the taller man where he sat holding his stomach on the bed.  Crowley made the mistake of laying a hand along Dean’s jaw and trying to tilt his head up, obviously going in for a kiss.  Dean instinctively grabbed his hand and broke the wrist, twisting it around Crowley’s back as he stood up and flipped the older demon, pinning him to the edge of the bed with his knees planted on the backs of Crowley’s pasty white thighs.

 

Dean turned his new favorite trick on Crowley, slipping into the turbulent waters of Crowley’s mind.  Something that usually gave him nothing but pleasure was more like actual work with Crowley.  The demon’s mind was a morass of desire; gluttony, lust, envy, greed, they all lit up the terrain of his mind in lurid reds and sickly, pukish yellow-greens.  Dean waded through the slithering piles of emotion, looking for something specific to him.  He found it and almost wished he hadn’t.  Deep inside the mess of Crowley’s mind, covered over by years of unrequited longing that set the territory afire in shifting oranges and salmons, was a memory of Dean on the racks and Crowley watching from afar.  His memories of that time were awash in jealousy, that Alistair was the one who got to dig into Dean’s luscious soul.  After all, hadn’t it been _Crowley’s_ cross roads demon who had sealed the deal?  Shouldn’t Crowley at least get a taste of the most delicious soul to ever cross the river Styx?  Wasn’t he owed that much for overseeing the deal of the millennium?  His sense of injustice was aflame, fed by the fuel of Alistair’s crude treatment of Dean.  _He_ would be much subtler.  _He_ would be inventive.  _He_ would bring new meaning to the word ‘torture’ and Dean would _love_ him for it, would be turned into Crowley’s most loyal disciple.  With a soul like Dean’s under his thumb, he could finally ascend to the throne of Hell and show demons like Alistair what a reign of terror _truly_ was.

 

Dean backed up, sickened by the onslaught of pain and torment Crowley had imagined for him.  He shook his head as he came back to himself in the gaudy B & B room, Crowley’s flabby ass presented to him over the bed.  Dean shoved him roughly up onto the mattress fully, following quick as a snake, to pin the lessor demon to the disheveled bedding.  Dean growled when Crowley tried to pull his broken wrist in toward his chest and he yanked both hands up over Crowley’s head, making him faceplant in the crusty sheets.  “You think you were a match for Alistair, his superior even?” Dean sneered into Crowley’s ear.  “You _want_ so much, you want _me._ I’m gonna give you what you want, little demon.”  Dean shoved Crowley’s head into the mattress as he reached over to snatch the mostly-empty bottle of lube off the nightstand. 

 

The demon tried to get his arms under him to push Dean off, “I-I d-don’t wan- “ he stammered.

 

Dean punched him in the back of the head and Crowley collapsed, all the fight leaching out of him so quickly Dean thought he might have knocked him out, but that was okay, too. Let him wake up with Dean’s cock in his ass.  “You forget so easily.  I _know_ what you want.  I can _see_ it.  _Feel_ it.  I can fucking _taste_ it.”  Crowley whimpered and shifted his head to the side, trying to see what Dean was doing above him, “You’re very lucky, ya know that?  I already figured out blood makes for shitty lube,” Dean gripped the strands of Crowley’s hair in his left hand and bent over to speak directly into the demon’s face, “I’m a _Knight of Hell_ , you quivering puke.  Did you really think I’d _ever_ get on my knees for you?  You’re just another hole for me to fuck,” Dean punctuated his last words by shoving three fingers into Crowley’s clenching asshole and the demon squealed under him, bucking involuntarily and trying to push Dean’s fingers back out of his body.  “How about this, Crowley?  How about you don’t like this, you smoke out?  Just get the fuck outta Dodge.  I’ll still fuck this body into oblivion, but you don’t have to stick around for the floor show, just admit defeat.  Admit that I’m stronger, admit my dominance over filth like you and get. The fuck. Out!”  Dean fucked his hand into Crowley until the demon was screaming, but not even a wisp of black smoke escaped his lips. “Alrighty then,” Dean swung his leg over Crowley’s thighs and pulled the demon’s hips up until he was on his knees.  He wiped the rest of the dwindling lube over his cock, which had sprung up as soon as he heard the bones in Crowley’s wrist snap, “but remember, you asked for this, you pompous, stuck-up, snot-nosed, English, giant twerp, scumbag, fuck face, dickhead, asshole.”  Dean shoved in and Crowley howled.

 

 

He wasn’t even three minutes into it when Crowley came the first time.  Dean felt him tighten, his inner muscles rippling then locking down, and Dean stilled, smothering the moan of pleasure that wanted to float out of him.  “Did…did you just come on my cock, Pig?” he muttered.  Crowley lay panting under him, his body finally going totally lax.  “Answer me, shit-for-brains.”

 

“Yes,” Crowley gritted out into the rumpled sheets, “yes I bloody came! Now, get the fuck off so you can get _the fuck off_!”

 

Dean laughed and resumed fucking into Crowley’s wet ass, one hand on the back of the demon’s head as he pushed him down flat on the bed, “Oh man, listen to that sass!”  Dean picked up the pace and rammed as far in as he could, “I _hate_ sass. You’ll lay there and take it until I decide it’s over, cockslut.  Until then, bitch, just enjoy the ride,” Dean grinned as he pinned Crowley’s hip down with his free hand and pounded into him.  Crowley tried taunting him, in between strained grunts, calling him weak, saying Dean didn’t have it in him to go another round, but Dean was wise to his reverse psychology bullshit.  He knew that, inside, Crowley was having the time of his life, he got off on the pain and degradation, even if it was his own.   So, he tuned him out and let his mind float.  The only time he could think clearly these days was when he was fighting or fucking  Fucking Crowley into the mattress counted as both, in his book. 

 

Thinking clearly, that was one of the biggest problems he’d found with being a demon.  Most of the time, his head was a jumble of thoughts and urges, without a conscience to rein everything in.  Every passing impulse competed with every other for manifestation.  He always wanted to fuck or drink or fight or kill, there was never any reprieve.  Unless he was doing one of those things to complete abandon, then everything else jabbering in his brain shut the fuck up and he could think.  Lately, though, all he could really think about was Sammy and that damn angel.  It was a problem.

 

He’d tried to tell Sam to let him go, and he’d thought his last beat down of Castiel had been a strong enough deterrent he wouldn’t come sniffing around, either.  They were both too fucking stubborn.  They just couldn’t let him have this freedom.  Freedom from worry, from guilt, from _feelings_ … But that wasn’t entirely true, if he was honest with himself (as he always was, these days), he still had feelings, they just weren’t dampened by the aforementioned guilt and worry.  If anything, he felt things more deeply now, more purely.  Lust stabbed through him whenever he thought about the angel, without that niggling little voice screaming ‘but he’s an angel of the Lord and a _dude_!’.  He felt the love he had for Sammy blossom and encompass all aspects of love, without that same voice screeching ‘but he’s your _brother_!’.  If they only knew this freedom, if they only knew what it was like…

 

Dean’s brain stalled out as an idea began to form and the embryo of that idea made him bust inside Crowley with a roar.


	2. The High Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam muses on his relationship with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would update every Monday, but it's Friday the 13th, so...Yay! New chapter!
> 
> Plus, I have more finished chapters than I have weeks to kill, so, enjoy!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Ch. 2, Graphic depictions of underage sexual contact  
>  Sexual coersion  
>  Incest and incest fantasies

 

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 2: The High Road

_“ **The dawn to end all nights / That’s all we hoped it was / A break from the warfare in your house / To each his own / The soldier is bailing out / He curls his lips on the barrel / And I don’t know if the dead can talk / To anyone / Come on and get the minimum / Before you open up your eyes /** **This army has so many hands / Are you one of us? / Come on and get your overdose / Collect it at the borderline / They want to get up in your head / Cause they know and so do I / The high road is hard to find** ”_

-Broken Bells, ‘The High Road’

 

For the first time in over a decade, Sam’s fingers itched for a cigarette.  At the height of pubescent rebellion, Sam had tried a cigarette given to him by another kid in the group-of-the-moment in a high school in some no-name town in Kentucky he’d attended for all of a month.  His desire to look cool combined with a simmering hatred for his father had led to a short but fierce addiction to the little cancer sticks that lasted until he’d been faced with Dean’s I-thought-you-were-better-than-this face.  Dean’s disappointment had always worked better than their father’s ranting tirades.  He’d gone cold turkey and never regretted the loss; even when he watched Dean struggle with quitting years later, until Dean’s body disappeared from his bunker bedroom.  Now, Sam thought about stopping by a gas station and picking up a pack every time he was out on one of his fruitless searches for information on Dean’s body and whatever demon had hijacked it. 

 

Of course, Castiel wasn’t much help in either department.  Out galivanting with his gal-pal Hannah instead of helping Sam get Dean’s body back, he seemed to have given up on finding a way to get Dean back into his body altogether.  Thinking about their angel slumming it with that stick-up-her-ass Hannah made Sam want to smoke even more.  Cas should be with Sam, where Sam could catch little whiffs of his scent as he brushed by, as immune to the concept of personal space with Sam as he ever was with Dean.  The guilt of wanting to keep Castiel near him for his own selfish reasons compounded his need for a cigarette until it was intolerable.  Sam grabbed the Impala’s keys and headed to the garage, just as his phone buzzed with a text from another hunter claiming he’d spotted Dean in New York state.

 

 

 

Sam had called, explaining that Dean was a demon, not just possessed, and Castiel’s increasingly-human heart shuddered to a stop.  He knew of the plan to cure Dean and it wasn’t that he thought Sam incapable of performing the ritual, it was that he had a feeling Dean would not be pulling any punches once Sam had him under the needle and he didn’t think Sam was ready to confront certain…truths.  In all the time he’d spent with the Winchesters, Castiel had never once let on that he knew how Sam felt about his brother, not to Dean and not to Sam himself.  He’d thought, when he had escaped Hell with Dean’s soul wrapped securely in his wings, that he would learn all he would ever need to know about humanity from the Righteous Man.  What else was he if not the epitome of humanity, the pinnacle of all things ‘human’, his Father’s ultimate masterpiece in the medium of flesh and blood?  But the more he was around Sam, he realized that Dean was not the end-all-be-all of human behavior.  Every single person was a depthless ocean of complexity, each one containing within themselves an endless universe of feeling, thought, and imagination.  Dean Winchester was one universe, Sam Winchester another, and they both captivated Castiel.  He felt Sam’s despair when Castiel claimed to have a more profound bond with Dean, but, at the time, it had only been the truth.  It had taken Castiel so long to develop the same feelings for Sam that he had for Dean, but it did happen, eventually.  He’d finally concluded that his feelings for each brother were equal but not the same, which really only made sense in his own head.  The one time he’d tried to explain the situation to another person (a homeless man who had bunked in the cot next to his in the shelter), he’d been met with a blank stare and nervous laughter.  The man had also muttered a derogatory term for homosexuals and rolled over on his cot to face the wall.  Castiel figured he would not be amenable to an explanation of his Father’s indifference to sexual orientation and gender.

 

Hannah knew of Castiel’s feelings and had still tried to turn him from his desire to be near the brothers.  She explained that she was only trying to show him that they were not his only option, but she was unsuccessful in her attempted seduction.  Hannah had much to learn about human emotions.  Even if his love had been unrequited, he would still have preferred their company above all others.  It pained him terribly to know how they felt about each other and about him when they both refused to acknowledge those feelings because of a misguided sense of honor or a total misunderstanding of societal norms through the course of human history.  Incest was taboo in the current climate, but it hadn’t always been that way.  The brothers’ unwillingness to confess their feelings for Castiel stemmed from a refusal to ‘corrupt’ an angel of the Lord.  If Castiel thought they would have believed him, he would have told them that physical expressions of love would do nothing to alter his Grace in any way, other than to strengthen it.  But he knew the Winchesters too well to think they would listen to him on either point, so they continued as they always had.  Unfortunately, that meant the well-intentioned lies, the needless self-sacrifice, and the endless self-denial continued as well.

 

 

 

Getting Dean into the bunker had been a chore, no thanks to that idiot Cole.  Although Sam couldn’t be too angry with the guy, he’d been surprisingly helpful in tracking Dean down, even if he’d bungled his whole revenge plot and nearly gotten killed for his trouble.  Sam worried a lot about what Dean had been doing while he ran around with Crowley and just how much guilt he’d have to carry once Sam cured him.  And he _would_ cure him, if it was the last thing he did.  Sam let his mind turn to things he didn’t dare normally think about as he drove back to the bunker with the consecrated blood riding shotgun in the Impala.

 

He could pinpoint the moment his thoughts of Dean had taken a decidedly unbrotherly turn.  The summer he’d been fourteen and Dean just turned eighteen, they’d stayed at a motel in Phoenix that had a serviceable pool.  Their dad had encouraged them to swim as much as possible, even showed them how to incorporate the water into their training regimen, and had promptly fucked off on a month-long hunt with two other hunters, leaving Dean behind to look after Sam.  The first week, everything had been copacetic, brotherly bantering, teasing, noogies and the occasional Indian burn breaking up the routine of swimming laps and epic splash wars that filled their days.  But the first Saturday their dad was gone, Dean had passed out, exhausted from being in the water and the bright sun all day, stretched out on the couch in the room watching television before he could make it to one of the twin beds.  Sam had been dozing over a book when he was woken up by his brother’s moans.  Sam walked warily around the back of the couch to make sure Dean was okay.  Standing there in a pair of too-big boxers and one of Dean’s old band t shirts, Sam had been transfixed by the sight of Dean’s face as it contorted in pleasure, his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips even in sleep.  He was unmistakably hard in his pj bottoms and Sam looked down at his own dick as he felt it stirring to life in his shorts.  He’d been jacking off frantically in the shower or under the covers when he was alone for almost a year, vague images of faceless women and men, bouncy breasts morphing into muscular chests and back again, generic skin and sighs of pleasure fueling his first orgasms.  He knew, even at fourteen, that he was gifted with a larger-than-average dick.  Boys his age talked almost ceaselessly about their cocks and he’d heard enough to know seven inches hard was impressive for an adult, much less a teenager.  His curiosity about Dean’s dick naturally developed from there.

 

Living in each other’s pockets for so long, Sam had had ample opportunity to ‘accidentally’ see Dean’s dick several times since he figured things out last year.  He hadn’t really thought much about it, other than using it for comparison purposes until that night in front of the t.v., the lights flickering over Dean’s face as his hand sought out his hard dick in his sleep.  Sam watched as Dean rubbed his dick through his pants, pulling the material tight enough that Sam could make out the wet patch at the tip even in the low light.  Sam mirrored his brother’s movements and had to stifle a groan at the first little bit of pressure on his now-hard dick.  He worked himself relentlessly, climaxing well before Dean and so hard he had to sit down on the stiff motel carpet for a few minutes before he could walk again.  He continued to watch Dean until his brother came in his pants with a grunt, his own shame spirally out as the euphoria of his orgasm receded, but he just couldn’t help himself.  Dean was beautiful, not that he hadn’t already known that, but watching him get off was revelatory for Sam.  It was easier than Sam anticipated to convince Dean he needed instruction in the fine art of jerking off the next day.

 

 

 

Sam threw the motel covers back, exposing the patch of dried semen in the middle of the bed, “Dean, look,” his brother turned around from where he was making his own bed, tucking the corners in tight enough to please their ex-Marine father, “I think I wet the bed last night.”  Lying in his bed that night, Sam had conjured up images of Dean, slick with pool water, his shorts clinging to his dick obscenely.  He thought about Dean chasing after him through the pool, his body a fractured peach blur under the water.  He envisioned letting Dean catch him, his brother’s big arms caging him against the pebbly surface of the side of the pool.  When Imaginary Dean bent his head and brushed his lips across Imaginary Sam’s, Sam had gone off like a rocket, mouthing Dean’s name as he came all over the scratchy motel sheets.

 

Dean walked over next to Sam and he looked up at his big brother just in time to see the second Dean figured out what was on his bed.  Dean blushed from his neck to his ears and chuckled nervously, taking a step away from Sam, “Dude, that’s, uh, that’s not piss.”

 

“What is it, then?” Sam asked in his best I’m-just-a-kid voice.

 

“That’s, um, it’s jizz, man,” Dean mumbled as he proceeded to strip Sam’s bed.  Sam kept the look of utter confusion on his face long enough for Dean to catch it.  He stopped and stood up straight, brows drawn down, “Dude, you’re _fourteen_! I know you know what jizz is!”

 

Now it was Sam’s turn to blush, “Well, _yeah_ , I know what…that is, but why’s it in my _bed_?”

 

Dean laughed again, shaking his head at his naïve little brother, “You just had a wet dream, s’all, don’t worry about it.” Dean balled up Sam’s bedding, “Just, ya know, maybe you need to take care of yourself more often,” he offered as he gathered up enough quarters for the washing machine down the hall and grabbed the laundry soap out of the kitchenette, “Be right back.”

 

When Dean came back, he found Sam on his back, doing sit-ups between the beds, “Sammy, what the hell, dude?  Why are you- “

 

“You said to take care of myself more often, so’m exercising.  You should, too, Dean.  Dad’ll be mad if we have to spend too much on laundry,” Sam said as he looked up at Dean standing over him, hands on his hips.

 

Dean laughed and sat on Sam’s bed, “Jesus effin’ Christ, Sammy, that…I didn’t mean take care of yourself, I meant ‘ _take care of yourself_ ’,” Dean stared expectantly at Sam, who stopped doing sit-ups and rested his arms on his bent knees.

 

“I still don’t get it.”

 

“Oh my God, look, just…get up here, ‘k?”  Once Sam was seated right next to Dean, his big brother slung an arm around Sam’s slim shoulders, “You ever, uh…like, touched yourself?  Touched your dick?” Sam nodded, eyes wide, “And it felt good, right? Like, when you rub it when it’s hard,” Another nod, “Well, if you keep rubbin’ it, jizz comes out and it…feels, like really, _really_ good and if you do that a couple times a day, you won’t have wet dreams, the end.” Dean patted Sam’s back and made to stand up, brotherly duty discharged for the day, but Sam grabbed his hand and pulled him back down, panic written all over his face.

 

“But what if…what if I can’t get the jizz to come out?  What if I’m, like, _defective_ or something? Dean- “

 

“Are you askin’ me how to come? Jesus, Sammy, I don’t know! It just… _happens_!”

 

Sam thought about the dead puppy he’d seen on the side of the road two years ago and the tears came easily, “I’m a f-fr-freak, aren’t I?” He buried his face in his hands and let his shoulders shake with the force of the sobs.

 

“Oh, jeez, Sam, no!” Dean’s automatic response to a crying Sam had always been to comfort and reassure, it was only natural that he wrap Sam up in his arms, “No, man! You are _not_ a freak, Sammy, please don’t call yourself that!”

 

Sam turned tearful eyes up to Dean, sniffling around his next words, “Will you…can you show me?  How to do it the right way?” Dean pulled his face back, mouth open to protest, “Just one time! Please, Dean! I swear I won’t ask again!” Sam looked meaningfully at his naked mattress, “I just…I don’t want _that_ to happen again.  I mean, what if Dad’d been here?  I’d _die_!”  Sam watched Dean’s face carefully as his brother worked through the conflict in his mind.  Finally, his instinct to take care of Sam in every way won out and he closed his eyes and nodded.  It took every ounce of his willpower for Sam to keep from screaming ‘yes!’.

 

That first time, Dean had sat across from him on the couch and plopped a bottle of motel lotion on the cushion between them, “First rule of better jerking off: lube.  If you’re in the shower, use shampoo or body wash, _not_ bar soap and not water, either.  Ya gotta keep things slippery.  You probably been doin’ it dry, right?” Sam nodded and blushed, “Yeah, that don’t work.  Use lotion or actual lube, if you can get it, outside of the shower, not hair gel, though, that just gets everything all sticky.” Sam had to repress a giggle at the idea that Dean liked his hair gel so much he had tried to jerk off with it.  “Okay, here we go,” Dean inhaled deeply, blowing the breath out slowly through his mouth, “Now, close your eyes. Don’t give me that look, Sammy.  I’m your _brother_ , don’t be a perv!” Sam ducked his head because he _was_ , he was a perv, the biggest perv in the world, to want this from Dean.  But he’d gotten this far, and he had to go all the way, or he’d regret it forever, he just knew it.

 

Sam closed his eyes and awaited Dean’s next instruction.  Just listening to Dean talk about this stuff had him hard in his pants.  He heard a zipper being lowered and copied what Dean was doing, “Pull your dick out, Sammy, though your drawers.”  Sam did as he was told, the air cold on his overheated cock and his stomach was in his throat, oh God, this was really happening!  He heard Dean gasp the slightest bit, “Okay, I’m gonna put some lotion in your hand.  Smoosh it around, warm it up a bit, that’s good.  Grab your dick, spread it around, that’s right, up and down, now just…yeah, that’s right, Sammy,” Dean’s words were getting a little breathier, a little slurred.

 

“Are you doin’ it, too, Dean?” Sam whispered, the image of Dean’s face from the night before playing out behind his eyelids as he stroked his cock.

 

“Yeah, yeah, man…right there with ya…don’t worry, Sammy, we’ll get ya there…mmm…get…you can get your balls out…kinda roll ‘em…between your fingers…no, with your other hand, Sam…yeah…yeah…like that…feels good, huh?” Sam nodded vigorously.  It _did_ feel good, it felt the _best_ and for the first time (but certainly not the last) he imagined it was Dean’s hands on him.  Dean’s big, calloused hands working his cock, playing with his balls and oh fuck, he was going to come.  Dean must have either seen Sam’s balls tightening up or he caught the hitch in Sam’s labored breathing. “You’re gonna come, Sammy…feel it?  Here it comes…just relax…let it happen…yeah…fuck…do it, Sammy, it’s all you…yeah…here it…comes…gonna come…fuck…Sam…Sammy… _Sammy_ … _fuuuucckkk_!” And Sam was lost to it, his orgasm slamming down and stealing his breath, his head thrown back on a guttural moan that sounded suspiciously like his brother’s name.  Just when he was floating down from the ceiling, he opened his eyes to see Dean’s face as he came, his hot come spurting out in an arc and hitting Sam’s still-pulsing cock, squeezing another round of white-hot spasms out of Sam and he gasped as a second orgasm rolled through him.

 

Sam couldn’t stop staring at Dean in awe as they both panted through the aftershocks, hands slowing on their dicks, until they were just sitting there, covered in their own semen and looking at each other dopily.  Dean’s face was pink from his orgasm and Sam felt a similar heat in his own neck and chest, but he doubted he looked as good as Dean.  His brother’s eyes even looked a brighter green than usual, it was captivating.  “Jesus, dude!” Dean laughed breathily, “You came a ton!”

 

“So did you!” Sam countered, embarrassment creeping in.  He wasn’t about to tell Dean he’d never come so hard in his life, much less twice in a row, and it was all because of his big brother. 

 

“Yeah, well, I haven’t cleaned the pipes this morning, so, ya know, it builds up,” Dean chuckled, like nothing was wrong with what they’d just done, as he stood to get cleaned up, throwing Sam a hand towel from the bathroom.  As much as Sam was wallowing in shame, he knew he wanted to do this again, as often as he could talk Dean into it.

 

They went on like that for three more years, until it wasn’t enough for Sam any more, those occasional jerk sessions in front of crappy motel porn while their dad was gone.  By his senior year in high school, he’d finally admitted to himself that he was the one pushing Dean into something his brother had never wanted and he’d keep on pushing until they did something Dean would never forgive him for.  The ‘kissing lessons’ Dean agreed to were difficult enough to work out.  He had to try harder and harder to come up with reasons and opportunities to watch Dean jack off from under lowered eyelids, even to the point of having to get Dean drunk the last couple of times.  He thought running off to Stanford, getting away from the temptation of his beautiful older brother, would take care of it.  He was so very wrong.


	3. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous chase through the bunker scene, with a little extra

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 3: Closer

 

**_“Driven by the strangle of vein / Showing no mercy I’d do it again / Open up your eyes / You keep on crying / Baby, I’ll bleed you dry”_ **

-Kings of Leon, ‘Closer’

 

“Come on, Sammy!” Dean called as he gripped the hammer, “Don’t ya wanna hang out with your big brother?  Spend a little quality time!”  Dean turned his head slightly, listening for Sam’s heart beat through the concrete. “You remember, little brother, I know you do!”  Dean strode out through the library and down the steps to the Map Room.  He wasn’t entirely sure a man Sam’s age couldn’t die from fright, so he needed to turn that fear into something else.  Time to get Sam thinking about old times.  “We’ll get ya there, Sammy,” he said in a cajoling tone.  Sam was just down the hallway, he could hear Dean just fine from here. “Relax, Sammy, let it happen.” Dean walked sedately into the hallway.  Now he could hear Sam’s breathing.  “Here it comes,” he smiled.  Sammy wasn’t in his room.  The power whined as it shut down and the emergency lights came on.

 

“Smart Sam,” Dean walked back down the hallway, “Locking the place down. Doors won’t open. I get it.  But here’s the thing: I don’t want to leave.  Not til I find you,” Dean made his way to the utility room, “Besides, I like the mood lighting.  Gives the place that whole strip-club feel.  I can’t wait for my first lap dance,” only to have Sam lock him in.  It was pathetic, really, Sam’s attempts to convince him to try to finish the so-called ‘cure’.

 

“You act like I _want_ to be cured,” Dean taunted as he chopped through the utility room door, “Personally, I like the disease.”  That little glimpse of Sam’s face through the splintered wood, his eyes wide and what most people would take to be frightened, but what Dean knew was really a combination of scared and extremely turned-on, made his dick harder than he could handle. He backed up a second to adjust himself in his jeans before finishing the door and kicking his way through in time to see Sam haul ass up the stairs and disappear from sight.

 

He was really getting a little pissed.  He thought Sam would have buckled a little sooner.  The threats of using the Demon knife on him were the final straw.  Dean may have said some things he didn’t mean, but hey, that’s brothers for ya.  Especially little brothers, always pushing buttons, pushing your limits, trying to get a rise out of you.  Well, Sammy was definitely in top form today because Dean was about as risen as he could get. “Let’s finish this game!”

 

And he almost had him, one good knock to that big head and he could have dragged him somewhere soft and shown him everything he knew Sam had always wanted.  Fucking kid surprised him, though.  Dean was all kinds of proud, “Well…Look at you. Do it. It’s all you.”  Sam’s face softened at the same time his eyes flashed with remembered lust, lowering the Demon knife from where he had it pressed into Dean’s neck and Dean knew he had him.

 

So, of course, Castiel, Angel of Cockblocks, had to show up early.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is such a short chapter and CoinofStone is such a sweetheart, I'm going to post one more chapter today.
> 
> Plus, knowing I made you guys happy is going to be the only thing getting me through the avalanche of homework I have.


	4. Passive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recaptured by Sam and Castiel, Dean makes a deal with Castiel, sealing the trio's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is a very slightly different 'Passive', for those of you who have read the Playlist version.
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warnings, Ch.4- Referenced Underage/Noncon   
> Referenced Dubcon   
> Referenced overuse of Chintz (that's probably a thing)

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 4: Passive

 

**_“Leaning over you here / Cold and catatonic / I catch a brief reflection / Of what you could and might have been”_ **

-A Perfect Circle, ‘Passive’

 

            Funny that it was Crowley he had to thank for this little intervention, considering the King of Hell thought they were bffs.  Funny that it was Sam who thought he could ‘save’ Dean, considering he hadn’t been able to save him from Hell.  Funny that Castiel didn’t realize Dean could hear his every thought, considering how much he used to fantasize about the very things Castiel was thinking.

 

            The looks his brother and the angel were exchanging, though, now _that_ Dean did not find a bit amusing.  Narrowing his eyes, Dean sunk into Sam’s admittedly chaotic thoughts, like slipping into a warm bath after throwing a toaster in.  There was a lot of extraneous chick-flick bullshit that Dean had to sift through to get to the meat, lot of Daddy issues mixed with a low, sick longing to be close to Dean, lot of _feelings_ about their shared dysfunction, lot of angst about his incestuous tendencies. Dean sighed mentally, it was all so pedestrian.  Even fangirls who didn’t know they were real people had guessed at the fucked-up undercurrent of their relationship and, anyway, it wasn’t anything Dean didn’t already know.  Flipping passed memories of guilt-riddled jerk off sessions in seedy motel rooms with his 18-year-old brother and the remorse of picturing Dean spread out under him every time he fucked sweet little Jessica, Dean plied Sam’s mind for anything concerning their angel.  Ah, there it was!  Dean plucked the single brightest image of Castiel out of the swirling wash of Sam’s subconscious and held it up for inspection.  It tasted like seven kinds of jealousy but looked like the hottest porn Dean could imagine.  God, this kid was such a freak.  Dean smiled up at his baby brother knowingly, cutting his eyes to Castiel, then back to Sam before winking.  Sam flushed but kept his kicked-puppy look plastered firmly in place.  Dean’s mouth turned down in a moue of disapproval and tutted at his brother.  Sam finally looked away in shame.  Dean grinned triumphantly.  He really did love their ability to communicate this way, it was so much more satisfying than words.

 

            Sam looked over at Castiel, who was currently regarding Dean with that tilted-head concerned-friend front.  Dean didn’t know who the angel thought he was fooling, oh yeah: everyone.  Dean sighed expansively, rolling his shoulders as if his bindings were causing him discomfort.  Compared to some of the positions he’d gotten himself into _voluntarily_ in the last little while, this was amateur hour.  The only reason he was still sitting here was because he’d decided breaking his brother and an angel of the Lord would be slightly more fun than flaying Crowley’s blighted soul, for the moment, anyway.  Time to get this show on road.

 

            “Sammy,” he crooned, “why don’t you untie me now, huh?  We can split him, ya know?  Just like you want.  Or maybe you two can split me?” Dean pursed his lips and looked up in contemplation, “Personally, I always thought of you as a bottom, but if you want to ease into that-“ Sam splashed him with holy water.  Dean snapped and roared, smoke curling off his face where the water landed.  Fuck, that still stung a little.

 

            When Dean looked back up, Sam was breathing heavy, eyes wet and cheeks flushed, “What’s a matter, baby boy?  Did you think he didn’t know?” Sam stiffened and glanced at Castiel out of the corner of his eye.  To Castiel’s credit, leaning against the only table in the room and keeping his arms crossed, he was doing a pretty effective job of maintaining the Holy Poker Face.  “Oh, boy, Sammy!  You really thought it was a secret!  Well, that’s just,” Dean tipped his head, smiling up at Sam’s stunned face, “ _adorable._ ”

 

            Sam walked stiltedly over to Castiel, bending over to whisper in his ear, like Dean’s hyperactive Demon senses wouldn’t enable him to hear every hissed syllable.  “I don’t know why he’s lying, Cas, but he is.” Castiel’s head snapped up, his eyes locking with Dean’s.  They both knew that was bullshit, both parts of Sam’s statement.

 

            “Come on, Sammy,” Dean whined, switching tracks like a hot knife slipping into butter, “I’m horny! Ya got me all tied up and exhausted, running around this shit hole all night, chasing your fine ass.  Come on, just give me a little somethin’,” Dean spread his legs as far as he was able without breaking free, scooting his ass forward a few precious inches and reveling in the way both sets of eyes flicked to his dick as it strained against the denim of his jeans before slanting away, “Kiss him, show him what I taught you all those years ago.”

 

            It was Castiel who brought the holy water this time, letting it trickle out of the flask to splatter across the bridge of Dean’s nose, flowing into his mouth as he opened it to growl, making him choke and sputter, spitting it out and pretending to struggle for breath.  “But ya know what’s really fucked up, Sammy?” Dean looked up at Castiel, tilting his head mockingly, “He felt _sorry_ for us when he was putting me back together after Hell.  I believe his exact thought was ‘Oh Father, they would be so _beautiful_ together, if only they would allow themselves to love.’”

 

            Castiel looked sadly over at Sam, the angelic version of kicked-puppy eyes, “Sam, I-“

 

            Sam cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand.  He stalked over to the table, grabbing a syringe of sanctified blood and loomed over a smiling Dean, who husked, “Yeah, baby boy, give it to me good,” before stabbing the needle into Dean’s arm, right below The Mark, and depressing the plunger.  Sam yanked the needle out and backed up as Dean moaned pornographically and writhed in the chair, straining against his binding.  Dean finally let his head fall back, licking his lips and glancing at Castiel on his right.  He winked at the angel before righting his head to look lasciviously at Sam, who glared back at Dean but hadn’t seemed to notice the half chub pushing against the zipper of his own jeans.  Dean noticed.  Dean always noticed.

 

            Dean chuckled darkly and rutted up into the air, wiggling his ass against the wooden seat, “Fuck, Sammy, gettin’ me so _hard_ with all this rough stuff,” Dean looked pointedly at Sam’s crotch, “Gettin’ you hard, too.” Sam looked down at himself but quickly looked back up at Dean, eyes gone wild and tight around the corners.  “Untie me, little brother.  We can enjoy a piece of angel food cake together.”  Sam dropped the syringe on the table when Castiel came around and grabbed his arm, ushering him out of the room.

 

            Dean heard their retreating footsteps as Castiel shuffled Sam down the corridor after pulling the door closed behind them.  They didn’t go too far, probably because Sam’s legs buckled, and he slid down the wall of the hallway, voice all watery with unshed tears.  Well, maybe a few tears were shed.

 

            “ _What the Hell do we do, Cas?_ ”

 

            “ _Sam, I think I should do the rest of the procedure myself._ ”

 

            “ _Wait, no, you can’t…You don’t_ actually _believe what he’s saying, do you?”_ Pause.  “ _Cas, come on, man, he’s a_ demon _!  He’s lying!  You gotta know that!_ ”

 

            “ _He…he isn’t, um, he isn’t lying about my seeing into his mind after Hell-_ “

 

            “ _Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,_ ” Sam’s voice was muffled for that part, his face in his hands, “ _we were just kids, Cas!  It didn’t_ mean _anything! I mean, you know how we were raised! I didn’t have anyone else! Just Dean.  Of course, things got a little jumbled in my head for a while, it was…it was just confused puberty shit!_ ”

 

            “ _And after?_ ” Silence. “ _And now?_ ” More silence. “ _Look, Sam,_ ” Castiel sighed, “ _We can’t cure him if we keep going at this with deceit in our hearts.  We have to do this with the purest love and that means truth, in all things._ ”

            “ _I…Cas, I…please don’t make me,_ ” Sam choked on a hard sob.  That was easier than Dean expected.

            “Come on, guys! Are you done blowin’ each other yet?  I’m losin’ my wood, here!” Dean called.

            More shuffling sounds and Castiel opened the heavy iron door.  “Oh, angel, are we doing one-on-one right now?” Dean pouted prettily, “I was really hopin’ for some group action.  You know, I haven’t gotten properly laid since I fucked Crowley into the mattress at that ungodly B & B in Schenectady.  Now, _that_ place was a torture dungeon. I mean, who uses that much chintz in this day and age, ya know?  Fuckin’ surprised I could even get it up, to be honest.”

 

            Castiel remained silent but his mind was awash in images of Dean pounding into Crowley, the King of Hell writhing beneath him, mewling and begging for it like a whore on a disheveled bed.  “Yup, that was pretty much it.  ‘Cept he was on his stomach, not all fours.  Well, at the end he was on his stomach.  After he came the third time, dry, I might add.  I kept fucking him until he was begging me to,” Crowley’s voice came out of Dean’s throat, strained and rough from screaming for hours, “’bloody stop! Dean! I said stop! **_Please_**!!!!’” Dean watched Castiel’s face morph into undiluted disgust. “Meh, not my finest hour, I’ll admit, but I’d already run through three women and he didn’t believe I still had anything left.”

 

            “I don’t believe you,” Castiel said, voice surprisingly even.

 

            “Doesn’t matter, it was just practice, anyway.  You and Sammy are the Big Show,” Dean grinned adoringly up at him, “I’ve been getting’ my love muscle in shape for you two rascals.  Damn, it’s gonna be the ride of a lifetime, baby, I just know it!”

 

            “Why isn’t the sanctified blood working on you?” Castiel asked, circling around behind Dean.

 

            “It did work on me, angel,” Dean conceded.  It couldn’t hurt to tell them, at this point.  It wasn’t like they could do anything to stop what was coming, not a depowered angel cut off from his Heavenly battery pack and a crumbling wanna-be brother-fucker with a busted arm. “As far as it _can_ work.  Which is to say, not very fucking much, little sting in the ol’ soul, little tug to the remnants of my conscious, nothing I can’t fix.  Nothing I haven’t _already_ fixed,” Dean said lowly, looking up at Castiel from under his lashes as the angel came back into view.

 

            “So, you are corrupting the blood as we inject it?” Dean nodded, capturing a corner of his bottom lip in his teeth.  Castiel contemplated this new tidbit of information, stealing glances at Dean as he squirmed in the chair, the outline of his hard dick pushing insistently toward Castiel.  “How long?” Castiel mused.

 

            “About eight inches.  And I’m totally not exaggerating,” Castiel threw a Sam-worthy bitch face at Dean, who only smiled.  “God, I can’t wait until you’re on your knees looking at me like that.  Bad Ass Mother Fucker is _such_ a hot look for you, angel.” Castiel rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the flush of arousal that crept up the back of his neck.  Dean noticed it, though.  He always noticed. 

 

            Dean sighed dramatically at Castiel’s continued silence, “Fine.” This was getting tedious anyway. “I’ll give you to the count of three.” Dean pulled his right hand out of the restraint easily, the warded leather strap and sisal ropes ripping like tissue paper.

 

            “What if I offer myself up to you willingly?  Will you take me away from here and leave Sam alone?” Castiel asked seriously, seemingly unperturbed by Dean’s impending freedom.

 

            Dean considered the deal sincerely, weighing his options as he looked the angel up and down, “Suppose I could give Sammy a _temporary_ stay.  Couple of hours anyway.  You’ve been teasing me for a long damn time.  I wouldn’t mind a little time to break you in before you become the lunchmeat in a Winchester sandwich,” Castiel’s shoulders sagged briefly before stiffening back up, “But we aren’t going anywhere.  I’ve got plans for Sammy, my own personal Boy King.  Gonna give him a little high-octane to kick things into gear,” Dean pulled his left wrist out of its strap and popped the button on his jeans.  He slid his zipper down slowly, watching as Castiel’s eyes dilated.  Dean smirked to know how little Grace Castiel had access to, that he couldn’t control his vessel even that little bit.  “Who’s Grace ya chug, angel? ‘Cause it really ain’t doin’ you any favors.” Dean considered Castiel for a moment, getting a mental image that made his blood boil.  “ _Crowley,_ ” he growled.  That little fuck, laying hands on _Dean’s_ angel like that.

 

            Castiel hoped Sam _had_ been listening, hoped he knew that Castiel was trying to give him some time to figure out another way to cure Dean, the man whose soul had shone brighter than the Sun when Castiel first laid eyes on it in the bowels of Hell, the demon whose soul shone with a light just as bright, but ruddy now, where it had once been a pure, white light.  He tried to see into Dean’s mind, but it was confusing in there, a jumbled mess of love and lust and power and fear.  It would take him years to untangle things enough to make any kind of sense of it using his stolen Grace.  Dean’s statement about giving Sam his blood was…worrying, to say the least, but his rage at Crowley flashed like a neon sign across his neocortex.  Castiel was surprised and secretly flattered.

 

“Not a secret, angel,” Dean purred at him.  “You know you’re my number one Celestial Wave _length,_ ” Dean eyeballed Castiel’s crotch and licked his lips, laughing when the angel fidgeted. 

 

            “Come on, angel, deal’s a deal,” Dean goaded, “Lose the Holy Tax Accountant get-up and get over here.”  Dean freed his cock, giving it a few loose strokes, sighing softly.  Castiel watched, lips slightly parted and wet now as he licked them subconsciously.  Castiel shed his trench coat, laying it across the table behind him.  Next came the suit jacket, followed by the sensible shoes, then he loosened his tie.  “Ah ah ah, leave the tie on,” Dean instructed, sliding further down in his seat, hand teasing his balls out of his boxers as he watched Castiel strip.  Castiel unbuttoned his white shirt with only slightly shaking hands, draping it over his coat and pulling his undershirt off, discarding it in the same fashion.  He unbuckled his belt and tried to remind himself that this was still the Righteous Man in front of him.  In a very fundamental way, the demon in this room was still _Dean_ , his precious Dean, for whom he had nearly Fallen, rebelled against Heaven, and slaughtered his own brethren to keep safe.  This was and always would be the man he loved most in all of Creation.  Dean threw his head back with a bark of sharp laughter, “Oh fuck, angel! Oh, that’s just…ha, ha, ha, that’s _darling_!  Man, you fucking slay me!”  Castiel glared back at him as he dropped his pants and stood in his billowy, white boxers, black dress socks, and ubiquitous blue tie.  Dean scowled at him, “Lose the fucking Grandpa socks and underwear, man.  Jimmy fucking Novak, what a fucking _square_!”  Castiel did as he was told, hopping from foot to foot to shed the socks, pushing the boxers down reluctantly.  He couldn’t stop the blush that spread down his chest under Dean’s calculating gaze.

 

            “Oh ho! And he acted like he was martyring himself for the _cause_! Nice boner, angel!  That for me or you still ‘only thinking of Sam’?” Dean sent Castiel one of his favorite memories, Sam’s young face the last time they’d indulged in one of their little two-man circle jerks, cheeks flushed a deep pink, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, lips wet with his and Dean’s saliva.  The very picture of erotic 17-year-old bliss.  Castiel’s breath hitched and his cock twitched hard enough to slap against his stomach wetly.  “I know,” Dean purred, “He was such a twink, wasn’t he?  I honestly don’t know how I kept my hands off him all those years.  Not that it’s much better now, just different.  Now, he’s all Colby Keller, super-sized porn star, giant cock and all.” Dean twitched his finger, beckoning Castiel to him, “We’re gonna wreck your ass, baby.”  Castiel found himself suddenly standing between Dean’s knees, unable to look away from his eyes, their grass-green color turned muddy moss in the yellow light overhead.

 

            Castiel sunk slowly to his knees.  He forgot why he’d been fighting this as he watched Dean’s eyes flick to fathomless black.  “Oh, angel,” Dean murmured, “This is going to be _so_ much fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it ends here, but this is where the story line will start to deviate from the original, setting up a different plot.


	5. Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel submits to Demon Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, I know, but I'm probably going to post at least one more chapter this week.

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 5: Eye

 

**_“Turn / To the gates of Heaven / To myself be damned / Turn / Away from light”_ **

The Smashing Pumpkins, ‘Eye’

 

            All he’d ever wanted was to serve.  When he realized his Father had abandoned them all, he’d just handed that loyalty off to the Winchesters.  Did it really matter whether they were humans or demons?  The only thing that mattered was giving himself, all of himself over to their service.  “That’s right, angel.  That’s good.  I knew you always wanted to be our chew toy,” Dean purred as Castiel ran his palms up the demon’s thighs.  Castiel’s mouth watered watching Dean’s thick cock lurch at his touch, a shining bead of precum forming at the slit.  “Lick it off, baby,” Dean whispered, his dark gaze siphoning off what little resistance Castiel had left.  He leant forward, bracing on Dean’s hard thighs, and ran his tongue over the head of his dick, lapping up the moisture there. Dean hissed sharply and jerked back minutely as a wisp of smoke curled up from the contact.  Dean’s come felt like a drop of acid on his tongue, a burn like drinking hot coffee too soon.  “Ah, fuck…don’t worry, angel…hmmm, yeah, there…s’ok now, all evened out.”  The sting of demonic power diffused quickly across Castiel’s tongue, spreading and dissipating.  Dean reached a hand out to grip the hair at the top of Castiel’s head, “Come on, angel, don’t be a cock tease.” He pulled Castiel’s head down and the former Garrison Commander willingly opened his mouth, taking the spongy head of Dean’s cock between his lips.  The union of Heavenly flesh with Hell’s own still sent a tingle through Castiel’s mouth, but it only fueled the lust he had felt for all these years and he sunk greedily down the hot, hard cock of his true love, moaning at the sheer _rightness_ of it all.

 

            Dean groaned and shoved forward, hand mercilessly holding Castiel’s head down, thrusting his dick straight down the angel’s throat.  Castiel swallowed over and over, almost in a panic, but without a gag reflex and no real need to breath, he soon settled, letting his jaw go lax a little.  Dean took that as the permission it was and grabbed Castiel by his ears, tilting his head up a bit, and proceeded to fuck his angel’s throat with unrelenting fervor.

 

            “Fuck, yeah, angel…take it so good…you’re a fucking natural, baby…more tongue…ah…ah…ah…yeah…fuck…don’t be afraid to use some teeth…like that…perfect…so hot, angel…fuck, you’re like a furnace…swallow it, yeah…fuck yes…I knew you’d love this…mmmm…been thinkin’ bout this so long, baby…can’t even choke you on it…but I’m sure gonna try…fuck yeah…shit…whew…ungh…ungh…mmmm…take it all…oh, angel…gonna fuck you every way…I’ve always dreamed of…yeah…can’t wait to watch Sammy do this…fuck, gonna be so sweet to us…aren’t ya, angel?” Dean’s demonic hearing didn’t miss the slick sound of flesh on flesh outside the closed door.  He grinned knowing Sam was out there fucking his own fist and imagining it was Castiel’s mouth around him.

 

            Dean leaned down, whispering to Castiel, “Sammy’s enjoying it already…you gonna make me come down that tight throat so he can hear it, angel?  Wanna make me scream?”  Castiel groaned and came explosively, cock spasming out his release as his eyes rolled up in his head.  “Did you…did you just come, angel? Fuck yes you did…” Dean grunted as he gripped both sides of Castiel’s head and pummeled his throat, an otherworldly growl boiling up from deep within his chest, blowing out his mouth as a reverberating rumble that shook every loose object in the room.  Sam’s little blood cooler rattled off the table as it danced, following the path of empty syringes, Castiel’s clothes falling after it with a soft thwump. The only other chair in the room flew back, striking the wall and bending slightly out of true as Dean shot boiling hot come down an angel’s throat.  Dean shook and screamed with the culmination of years of pent up lust and self-loathing, holding Castiel’s head to his groin as he came and came and came, a seemingly never-ending stream of cataclysmic pleasure pulled from the depths of his very soul.  For the first time since he turned, Dean lost all sense of place and self, awash in unhindered joy.

 

            When he finally opened his eyes, he looked down at Castiel, still suckling on his softening dick, his blue eyes swimming in tears, his cheeks wet with ones already cried.  In this moment of clarity, he could see into all of Castiel’s past, the shifting loyalties, the lies, the shattering loneliness of eons.  Dean hummed and petted through the angel’s hair, “But you’re with us, now, angel.  You understand, don’t you?”  Castiel nodded slowly, releasing Dean’s cock with a slurp.  “Come up here, baby.”  Castiel clambered into Dean’s lap, straddling his hips and crammed into the tight space, but humming happily as he rubbed his swollen lips behind Dean’s ear.  “This is where you belong.  Do you see?” Castiel nodded.  “You were made for this, for being ours.  That’s why you’ve never felt like you fit, no matter who you followed or how many you commanded.  You never felt _right_ , did you?”  Castiel sobbed into Dean’s skin, licking his own tears up enthusiastically, “It’s okay, angel, almost there, you’re almost there.  Only one more thing to do before it’s all gonna be perfect, right?  Let’s go get our Boy King situated, hm?”


	6. When the Levee Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the barely-altered version of the Destiel Playlist story, but the differences are very important!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: If you've come this far, I honestly don't think anything in this chapter will trigger you.

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 6: When the Levee Breaks

 

**_“Cryin’ won’t help ya / Prayin’ won’t do ya no good / When the levee breaks / Mama, ya got to go”_ **

-Led Zeppelin, ‘When the Levee Breaks’

 

            “ ** _Sammy!!_** ” the voice of his brother echoed through the halls of the first true home Sam has ever known.  That wasn’t true.  _Dean_ was the first and only real home he’s ever known, the one he carried with him, through every aborted pubescent runaway attempt, through the smoldering remains of his best hope for normalcy, through every minor tiff and major rift in his relationship with the last piece of family he had left.

 

            _If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s going to break_

_If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s going to break_

            “Sam,” the voice of his best friend is high and reedy but carries just as well as his brother’s.  Sam heaved a defeated sob into his fist, balled up and jammed in his mouth to keep any moans from escaping.  It wasn’t working, but never let it be said that Sam Winchester gave up on a Bad Idea until it had completely ruined him.  Now, where was he?  Oh yes, trying to remove his own penis by rubbing it off with almost constant masturbation.

 

            _Mean old levee, taught me to weep and moan_

_Mean old levee, taught me to weep and moan_

_Got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home, oh well, oh well, oh well_

Sam stroked his sore cock as he contemplates everything that brought him to this moment.  That’s not true.  He’s contemplating joining the only two people who matter to him on their joint expedition to insanity.  He’s picturing what they’re getting up to down the hall in his room.  Not ten minutes ago, Dean had strutted past him where he was hunkered down: the floor across from Dean’s room, where he’d spent the last hour trying to decide if it would benefit anyone to lock himself in there with Dean’s things and let himself starve to death until Dean got bored and fucked off.  Dean had laughed as he walked past, Castiel, former Angel of the Lord and rumored Hammer of Heavenly Fury TM, crawling on all fours behind him in nothing but poor, dead Jimmy Novak’s blue tie.

 

  _Don’t it make you feel bad?_

_When you’re trying to find your way home you don’t know which way to go?_

_When you’re going down South and there’s no work to do_

_And you’re going on to Chicago_

Sam drops his dick.  It’s pointless, anyway.  He’s coming dry at this stage in the proceedings and it just hurts.  The thumping beat of Dean’s favorite Zeppelin songs are starting to make his jaw ache, as they’re being fed directly into his brain by his demonic (literally) older brother.  Or maybe that’s the phantom ache of years of fantasizing about sucking Dean’s thick cock.

 

            _Cryin’ won’t help you_

_Prayin’ won’t do you no good, no_

            _Cryin’ won’t help you_

_Prayin’ won’t do you no good_

            _When the levee breaks, mama you got to go_

            “ ** _Oh shit, Sammy, you oughta see this!  Got almost my whole damn fist in here!_** ” Dean’s exulted cries are nearly drowned out by Cas’ wanton moans.  Sam tries slamming his head against the cement wall again.  It still doesn’t work.  He’s still hard.  He’s still hopeless.

 

            _All last night, sat on the levee and moaned_

_All last night, sat on the levee and moaned_

_Thinking bout my baby and my happy home_

 

            Grunting, Sam levers himself up the wall to standing and tries to pull his pants up but stops when he realizes his boxer briefs are thoroughly soaked in come.  He shucks the whole works and stands looking at Dean’s bed in nothing but his t shirt.  He’d lost the arm sling somewhere between his third and fourth orgasm, when he’d moved up here, to the last place he could remember seeing Dean smiling before his world collapsed under its own weight.

 

            _Going-going to Chicago_

_Going to Chicago_

_Sorry, but I can’t take you_

Sam strips his sweaty shirt off and lets it drop on top his pants and boots, wincing only a little at the pull to his left arm.  It doesn’t matter now.  None of that matters.  He’s done so many horrible things in his life, a little bit of pain in one arm is hardly karmic justice.  His justice waits for him ten feet away, behind the closed but unlocked door to his erstwhile bedroom, where the brother he’s lusted after ever since he knew what his dick was for and the most noble being he’s ever had the privilege of calling ‘friend’ are currently calling for him to complete their unholy union.

 

            “ ** _Such a fucking drama queen!_**   ‘ ** _Unholy union’, yeesh! You sound like a B movie trailer, Sammy_** ,” Dean calls out as Cas yelps and curses, grumbling at him to ‘be careful, Dean, I can’t heal _everything_ ’.  Sam walks steadily on, hand reaching the doorknob before he quite realizes he wasn’t _actually_ headed to the kitchen to find a knife to slit his wrists.  He shudders out his last breath as a mostly-decent human being and turns the knob.  The door swings open smoothly, thanks to Dean’s latent homeowner tendencies and ‘just a video on Youtube, Sam, not like it’s rocket surgery’.  Sam swallows a sob as he steps over the threshold. 

 

_Going down-Going down, now_

            _Going down-Going down, now_

_Going down-Going down, now_

_Going down_

_Going dow-, dow-, dow-, down, now_

 

            Dean is walking around the end of the bed, wiping his hand on one of Sam’s plaid shirts, the teal and black one he liked the best because it had been washed so often and was consequently soft as a cloud.  He has a feeling he won’t be wearing any clothes in the foreseeable future.  Dean grins over at him at that idea and Sam can almost pretend his brother is truly happy.  “Oh, fuck me _runnin’_ , Sammy! I _am_ happy.  Now that you’re here, everything is perfect,” Dean laughs lightly.  Dean eyeballs him critically, “Lookin’ a little subpar there, little brother.  Hey, angel, you got enough Grace left you can fix Sammy’s arm?”

 

            Castiel is on his stomach on the bed, looking for all the world like he’s passed out, but at the mention of ‘angel’, he lifts his head to smile back at Dean.  “I believe so,” he offers as he gets up on his knees, ignoring the stream of come and lube that trickles out of his ass at the change in position.  His dick is fully erect as he beckons Sam over to him, “Come here, Sam.”  Sam walks over to his friend on numb feet, his abused dick twitching in unwelcome interest.  Cas lays both hands on Sam’s broad chest, stroking across its expanse and humming low in his throat, a sweet, satisfied sound that breaks Sam’s heart just that little bit more.  “Sam. Sammy. Little Sammy Winchester, the once and future King, how wonderful,” Castiel murmurs, his face split in an awful grin.  Dean mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘that wasn’t very nice, Sam’ from the other side of the bed, where he’s finally taking the rest of his clothes off.  He’s also just as hard as Cas.

 

            “Duh, Sam. Demon powers, hello?” Dean rolls his eyes as he chucks his red button up behind him, “HEY!” he shouts, startling Cas in his worship of Sam’s pecs, “I said fix his arm, not edge him! Fuck, baby, can’t you follow a simple direction?” Cas makes a pouty face at Sam before he latches onto a nipple, biting down almost hard enough to hurt and grabs Sam’s left shoulder in an icy grip.  Sam hisses in a breath at the simultaneous stimulation to his nipple and the cold rush of relief that washes down his arm.  “See?” Dean crows, grinning at Sam over Cas’ back, “Was that so hard?”  Castiel licks an apology across the nipple he’s been gnawing on and Sam’s brain catches up a little.

 

            “Cas?” he asks brokenly, “Did you call me-“ Cas has made his way down Sam’s stomach, Dean still leering behind him, now stroking up the angel’s back, “-ah, uh…fu-ck!” and Cas swallows him down from tip to base, in one smooth move.  He braces on Sam’s right thigh with one hand, rolling his balls in the other and just like that, Sam’s fully hard again, like he hasn’t come in weeks, leaking down his best friend’s throat and good fucking God, is it _amazing_!  So tight and Christ, _hot_ , inside Cas’ mouth, his tongue swirling, throat working to fit Sam’s larger-than-average (I’ll fucking say, Dean huffs) dick as far down as it will go.  Sam doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so they end up fluttering helplessly about two inches over Cas’ bobbing head. 

 

            “Just fucking-,” Dean grabs both of Sam’s hands and buries them in Cas’ black hair, forcing his fingers to grip onto the thick locks and Cas moans around Sam’s dick.  Sam throws his head back and tries to keep his knees from buckling under the onslaught, “-grab ‘im, Sammy, fuck his mouth.  He loves it, don’t ya, baby?”  Cas moans and sinks back down.  That’s not true.  Sam _pushes_ him back down, all the way, until Cas’ nose is buried in his untrimmed bush (What’s the point of manscaping if you never get laid, Dean mutters).

 

_Cryin’ won’t help you_

            _Prayin’ won’t do you no good_

 

            “God, De, change the fucking song,” Sam growls as he watches Cas eat him alive.

 

            “What song?” Dean asks, but Sam isn’t listening past the sounds of slurping and sucking and Cas whining.  “Ha, he’s beggin’ me to fuck him again.  Can you believe this little cockslut was hiding in there the whole damn time?”  Dean watches Sam’s face break apart as the angel takes him apart, his little brother now rocking his hips in time with his hands pulling Jimmy Novak’s mouth down around his cock.  “Wait,” full stop, it’s magnificent, “here, lay down, Sammy.”  The angel backs up, a tide of drool and precum spilling from his slack mouth as he comes off Sam’s dick, and Sam reluctantly clambers up on the bed, his long frame lying in the middle of the barely-adequate mattress.  It’s really too small for three six-foot-plus men, but it’s the biggest bed in the Bunker, so they’ll make it work.  Dean guides the angel back over Sam’s dick, Sam losing his breath as soon as he sinks back into that viscous heat, and Dean kneels beside Sam’s ribs, watching Sam lose everything else.

 

            _Cryin’ won’t help you_

_Prayin’ won’t do you no good, no_

 

Dean’s always loomed inexorably on Sam’s horizon, like the Sun.  Life-bringer to Sam’s sphere of existence, why should it be any different now?  Couldn’t stop his descent into Hell, couldn’t stop Gabriel from murdering him over and over and over, couldn’t stop Metatron from sinking the First Blade into his chest, he should just stop trying to _save_ Dean. Dean does the saving around here, always has.  And besides, he looks so _happy_. Dean swings one leg over Sam’s chest, straddling him and rubbing his dick low-key between Sam’s pecs.  He leans down, cupping Sam’s cheeks and whispers, “I _am_ happy,” he hovers that perfect mouth millimeters from Sam’s, “I love you, Sammy.”  Sam’s brain gives one last dying chug of _he doesn’t even know what love means anymore_ before Dean’s lips seize his in a scalding kiss that wipes his hard drive back to factory settings.  Sam Winchester’s big brain snaps like dry kindling and he groans into his brother’s mouth as he comes down an angel’s throat.

 

            _All last night, sat on the levee and moaned_

 

            Dean smiles and moves down Sam’s body, fingers trailing fire as he goes.  Sam’s still hard as Dean moves out of the way for Castiel to sit on Sam’s cock, slick with saliva and the barest traces of his own seed, the same seed Castiel is wiping off his chin and licking off his fingers.  Dean comes back around to sit on Sam’s chest, so he can kiss Cas.  Sam grabs his hips and drags him up where his tongue can reach, prying his ass apart and licking a broad stripe from taint to asshole and starts flicking his tongue over his brother’s perfect pink pucker, which only faintly tastes of sulfur, it’s really not that bad.  Dean groans lowly and shoves his ass harder onto Sam’s face, hands holding onto Cas’ shoulders so the angel can use one hand on his own cock and one hand one Dean’s. 

 

            “Open me up, little brother, gonna ride you after our angel,” Dean rumbles.  Castiel bounces faster at that, little whimpers of ‘Sam’ and ‘Sammy’ and ‘fuck, so good’ escaping his swollen lips.  Sam plants both feet on the bed and Cas leans back, holding on to Sam’s knees as he rides faster, down to grunts and gasps of what sounds like ‘Dean’.  Sam’s starting to lose focus as he feels his orgasm burning through his spine and Dean’s there in a second, leaning across Sam’s stomach to grip the base of his cock between his thumb and first two fingers, “Nuh, uh, Sammy, not yet.”  He sucks Cas’ bobbing cock into his mouth and the angel screams and clamps down on Sam’s throbbing dick, hips thrusting between the two sources of his destruction with sighs of ‘ungh’ and ‘ah’.

 

            _Going down-Going down, now_

_Going down-Going down, now_

 

            Dean is hovering over Sam’s dick, knees framing Sam’s hips as Castiel opens him up, kneeling between Sam’s knees.  Dean is also licking and sucking every inch of Sam’s chest and stomach he can reach.  “Don’t know how I…resisted this…for so long…baby brother…so fucking hot…like every wet dream…ever…in the world…hot fucking angel buddy with us all the time…been so stupid…wasted so much time…beautiful…perfect…both of ya…fuck, yeah, angel, ungh! Right there, don’t stop!  Fucking gorgeous…gonna ride you ‘til ya blow, Sammy…then ‘m gonna open your little virgin ass…shove big brother’s cock right in there…fuck you hard and dirty…while angel boy fucks your mouth…” Dean’s fingers are in his mouth suddenly, “Here, Sammy, try this.”  It’s salty and electric and Sam bites down helplessly, “MMMM…Sam…yeah…take some more…fuck yeah…much as you want…all you need…all for you, baby boy…that’s good, angel, lube him up…”

 

              _Don’t it make you feel bad?_

_When you’re trying to find your way home you don’t know which way to go?_

            Sam’s dreaming about Dean again.  Dean on his dick, riding him, rambling the filthiest shit possible as he sweats and squeezes and growls and God, it’s perfect, best dream he’s ever had.  “Not a dream, little brother,” Dean grinds out as Castiel lowers his astonishingly purple cock to Sam’s lips.  How the Hell is it so _dark_ , Cas is so _pale_.  Castiel groans and whimpers, “The Novaks are of Eastern European descent,” like that explains everything.  Dean wrenches Castiel’s face around so he can plant a sloppy kiss on him that’s more like a tongue bath, muttering, “You’re so smart, baby, love that.”  And Sam concentrates on swallowing as much of Cas’ uber-purple dick as he can so he doesn’t come before Dean says as the tingling bolts of power from Dean’s blood zip around his body, lighting up long-dormant sections of his brain.

 

            _Mean old levee, taught me to weep and moan_

_Got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home, oh well, oh well, oh well_

 

            “Come in me, baby brother…come on…fill me up,” and, God help him, Sam does.  Happily.  An angel of the Lord anoints him with his holy load when he opens his mouth to scream his brother’s name.

 

            _If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s going to break_

 

            Someone’s dick is stretching him out and he’s going to shatter into a million pieces if this keeps up.  “Stop fucking clenching, Sammy!  Goddamn it!  Angel, get in here and suck his dick so he’ll relax a little.”  Grumbling off to Sam’s left.  “No! I wanna see his face when he comes on my dick!  _I’ll_ suck your dick when I’m done here, okay?”  The sharp sound of a hand swatting someone’s ass.  “ _Fine! Fine!_ I’ll fuck you next, then, would you just-“ and Sam’s dick is once again engulfed in the torrid cyclone of Castiel’s mouth, “Good…yeah…open up, baby brother…fuck, yeah, that’s perfect…ungh…all of it…take it all…ahhh, there we go…ungh…ungh…mmm…angel, you gotta get in here next…yeah, fuck, so tight…like a damn vice, this kid…not gonna…fucking last like this…faster, angel…use those teeth, bet he…ungh, fuck…bet he likes that, too…fuck, hold on, Sammy…gonna…go harder now…gotta…there, like that…just…like…that…here we go…”

 

_When the levee breaks, mama you got to go_

            “That’s…okay…angel…fuck…yeah…want ‘im…to come… _ungh_...on my dick…Sam…Sammy…look…look at me…come on…” Sam looks down at his body, long legs folded back almost to his neck, Cas kneeling next to him, stroking that stupid pretty purple dick of his, his own dick hard as a rock and bouncing with every rocking thrust, smacking into the puddle of precum (or maybe it’s the angel’s spit, who cares) above his belly button over and over, his brother’s corded forearms, veiny hands squeezing bruises into the backs of his knees, and Dean, eyes green (for now), snarling (I’m not fucking snarling!) smiling down at him.  “That’s…it…yeah…ya gonna come…huh, Sammy…come for me…yeah…yeah…oh, fuck, Sam…yeah,” and Sam flies apart, pieces soaring into the stratosphere and sucking back down, all together, on his brother’s cock, down, down, tighter and tighter, imploding into a black hole and Dean is roaring the room down, a 9.0 (come on, that’s a 10, easy) on the Richter scale and Sam is gone.  Fade to black (sweet Metallica reference, kiddo).

 

 

 

            “You came over the top of him like a goddamn tickertape parade, angel!  That was hilarious,” Dean snickers as Castiel rides him slowly, both holding each other tight as Cas murmurs something in Enochian.  “Yeah, I remember…look, he’s awake.” Cas grumbles something else. “Okay, but hurry up, now.” And the bed bounces Sam a little harder, Castiel calling out a moment later as Dean grunts into his shoulder and watches Sam watch them.  He grins wolfishly as he gently tosses Castiel off his lap and crawls the few inches over to Sam to kiss him ravenously and Sam groans into it, hands going up to card through Dean’s hair.  When he pulls back to look down at Sam, Cas is there, running his hands through Sam’s hair, pulling the tangles straight.

 

            Dean looks adoringly up at their angel taking care of Sam, “Mmmm, lovely…Hmm…I want some bacon,” Cas’ fingers stop moving in Sam’s hair, “Sam, think you can throw some clothes on and make me some?  You hungry, Cas?  I’m fucking starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last nearly-intact chapter drawn from the Playlist. Everything from here on out is going to follow the new story line, with the exception of a few borrowed scenes.


	7. You Worry Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel realizes something much more significant is going on with the three of them and Dean decides he needs answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings are just going to have to be the tags from here on out.
> 
> Sorry guys, little bit of angst in this one, little bit of Dean being Dean, but he is still a demon, so I don't know what I expected...

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 7: You Worry Me

 

**_“I had dreams of you in places I’ve not seen before / You get so carried away / Like lovers new to bodies first to touch you here / This ain’t a getaway / You build walls around your heart to try to lock it in”_ **

-Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats, ‘You Worry Me’

 

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat and his fingers stilled in Sam’s hair.  Sam whined a little and Dean frowned at Castiel slightly but shook his head and made to pull Sam up into a seated position.

 

“What you wanna eat, little brother?” Dean hummed into Sam’s neck.  Sam picked up Dean’s left hand, inspecting the chewed-up fingers there.  “Oh, don’t worry about that, baby boy, it’ll heal.”

 

“I’m not worried, Dean,” Sam answered flatly, “I’m not really hungry.”  Sam turned Dean’s fingers over and caught the little slit that ran across the middle and index finger.  Sam looked up into his brother’s eyes as he brought the fingers to his mouth, licking the little swirls of dried blood off.  Dean inhaled sharply, his heart rate spiking.  Castiel’s eyes narrowed as his ears picked up Dean’s beating heart.

 

“Come on, before I tie you two to the bed and fuck you until the Sun goes out,” Dean pulled his fingers away from Sam, yanking hard when Sam tried to hold onto them, and slithered backward off the bed.  Dean looked down at himself, then back up at Castiel and Sam, who was licking his lips and staring at Dean’s hand where it hung by his hip, “Shower first, though, huh guys?”  Sam nodded and Castiel followed the brothers to the communal shower.

 

The Men of Letters had built every bedroom a small en suite, with a sink and a toilet, but their generosity only extended so far.  Their members had had to take showers in a gym-style locker room/shower room, consisting of rows of tall, oak lockers with wide benches running in front of each section.  The shower portion of the big room was a combination of private stalls with gray plastic curtains and a square, public area with ten shower heads spouting from opposite walls.  The few times Castiel had partaken of the facilities, he had preferred the pressure in the large, communal area.  He’d never been particularly shy about his vessel, or his body, as he thought of it now, but the brothers had always made certain to steer clear when he was showering.  Standing behind Dean as he adjusted the temperature on three of the shower heads on one wall was a little surreal for the former garrison commander.  Sam stood next to him, content to let Dean select how hot their shower would be, still staring at Dean’s left hand where it was braced on the wall and licking his lips every few seconds.  Castiel watched Dean angle two of the shower heads to point toward the middle one before he turned around and grabbed Castiel’s hand and Sam’s arm, pulling them under the spray with him.  The water was obviously a little too hot for Sam, but he stayed silent and let Dean lather up a cloth with the bar soap the brothers’ preferred.

 

Castiel’s brain seemed to get slipperier with every stroke of the wash cloth across Sam’s body, his brother turning him this way and that to get every inch clean.  Castiel stepped up and repeated Dean’s actions with a second cloth and the soap.  He ran the cloth over his own chest and let the suds wash away the confusion clouding his mind.  There was something he wanted to ask Dean, but he couldn’t seem to remember what it was.  He stepped closer to Dean and began washing his back, smiling when Dean arched into the contact and groaned.  Sam took some initiative and turned Dean around, snatching the wash cloth from his hand as he did.  Dean let Castiel wash his front while Sam stepped into him and washed between his butt cheeks gently.  And so it went, until all three were thoroughly soapy and pressed tight, a tangle of slick limbs and quiet, questing mouths.  Dean slipped his fingers between Castiel’s cheeks and circled his hole.  Castiel expected it to hurt.  He’d used the last of his stolen Grace to heal Sam’s arm and make him erect again, but it didn’t hurt at all.  Castiel tried to twist around to see if he could tell if he was healed from their vigorous bedroom activities, but Sam captured his jaw and pulled him in for a slow, sloppy kiss as Dean guided them under the spray to rinse off.

 

Dean turned the water off and they took turns drying each other off, still mostly silent, working in seamless concert.  Dean’s arm came right up in front of Castiel’s face as he was drying the angel’s hair.  Castiel hissed a shocked inhale and grabbed Dean’s arm, turning it so he could see the Mark under the bright fluorescent lights.

 

“Hey!  Wha- “ The Mark was faded, almost half as dark as it had been.  Dean’s eyes shot up to Castiel’s as Sam joined them in scrutinizing Dean’s arm.  Sam looked up at Castiel with a smile.

 

“I think it worked.”

 

“But,” Castiel’s eyes were drawn back to the Mark, like a magnet to steel, “it’s still here.” Castiel searched Dean’s shocked face, “And he’s still a demon.”

 

Dean yanked his arm away from Castiel’s grip, “Yeah, so fucking what?  Doesn’t mean a damn thing,” he grumbled as he pushed past them, striding out of the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

 

“What does it mean, though?” Sam asked Castiel, confusion warring with panic on his face.  Castiel was fairly certain he knew where both emotions were coming from, considering Sam was still intermittently licking his lips.

 

Castiel shook his head and drew Sam to him with an arm around the younger man’s broad back.  Castiel laid his head on Sam’s warm chest, “Is this alright?” he asked meekly.  He hated the way his voice sounded, but things were changing so fast, he felt like the Earth would split under him and swallow him whole at any second.  He didn’t want to lose any chance he had at the comfort and intimacy with the brothers that he had longed so endlessly for.

 

Sam wrapped his big arms around Castiel’s back, pulling him in tight, “Course,” he replied before ducking his head and placing a soft kiss to Cas’ wet hair.

 

“Everything’s changing, I wasn’t sure.”

 

“Something’s coming.  Something big, I can…I can feel it, but I can’t see it,” Sam said quietly, “I drank his blood, Cas.  Does this mean I’m…I don’t want…I won’t hurt you, either of you, but I…I’m scared” His voice was just the barest whisper at the end and Castiel wanted to burrow into his skin, to stay here always and keep him safe.

 

“You won’t, Sam,” Castiel looked up at him.  Even though Sam was so much bigger, he seemed such a child in that moment, a small, scared child, and Cas’ heart ached for everything the brothers had been through that Sam’s first thought was that he’d rather die than hurt Cas or Dean with his reawakened powers.  “And I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Cas framed Sam’s jaw with his hands, his finger tips barely reaching the delicate skin under Sam’s ears, “Even you.”

 

Sam’s brows drew together in confusion, “What do you mean, ‘even me’?”

 

“No matter what happens, I won’t let you kill yourself, Sam,” Sam’s eyes widened in shock, “We’re all in this together now.  I need both of you, you need both of us, and he needs you and me.  It’s the only way we’ll cure him.”

 

“Wait,” Sam pulled back, wrenching his face from Castiel’s grip, “how’d you know I was thinking about killing myself?”

 

Castiel tilted his head, studying Sam.  Hadn’t Sam said that?  He reviewed the conversation in his head, searching for the words ‘I’d rather die’, but they just weren’t there.  “I guess…I guess I must have read your mind,” Castiel admitted reluctantly.

 

Sam backed up another step, so that they weren’t even touching and Castiel’s heart gave a cry at the loss, “I thought you couldn’t do that on borrowed Grace?”

 

“I-I…I can’t…” Castiel looked away, sinking deep inside himself, seeking…seeking, something.  No trace of the Grace Crowley had forced on him remained, but there was…something.  It was so far away, Castiel stretched as far as he could, and he could almost see it, just a flicker of blue-white light, but he would know that Song anywhere.  It was his, he could feel it now if he concentrated very hard, his Grace.  It still sang his Song within him, weak and hollow, echoing in the empty spaces where once there had been a chorus, but it was there, nonetheless.  His eyes still open, Castiel resurfaced and cut his eyes up to Sam’s, easily reading the fear there, “I don’t…I have my Grace.  I-it’s small, so small, and…weak, yet, but…” Cas felt Sam’s arms come around his shoulders again, “…I can feel it,” he let his eyes slip closed, the knowledge that something of himself still remained warming him from the inside even as Sam’s body warmed him from the outside.

 

“Maybe…” Sam trailed off and Cas could practically hear the gears turning inside his head.  Sam bent to kiss Castiel, just a dry, chaste brush of lips, “Let’s go see what mess Dean’s making in the kitchen.”  Castiel agreed easily and followed Sam out into the hallway.  He needed to think about all this some more, what the fading Mark meant, if he might be able to nurture his little bit of Grace into filling him as it had before, what powers and what dangers might manifest as a result of Sam’s renewed demon blood drinking.  It was a lot for someone used to following orders to try to untangle on his own.  For now, it was easier to enjoy this new bent in his relationship with the brothers.

 

 

 

            Dean was quietly frying up a mess of bacon when he heard Sam and Castiel make their way into the kitchen.  A glance over his shoulder showed him the two were holding hands and while it almost made him laugh, he also understood it.  A week ago, he would have given in to his urge to tease both mercilessly for being a couple of girls.  Hell, a week ago, he would have them both tied to the kitchen table, bent over with their asses in the air for him to play with as he ate breakfast.  But for some reason he didn’t want to examine too closely, he sympathized with their need for continued contact, for some little bit of physical reassurance that the new dynamic in the Bunker hadn’t been a Djinn dream or hallucinatory spell.  He thought it might not be so bad, touching one or both of them like that, without any desire to fling them onto the first available flat surface and fuck them senseless.  An image of the three of them curled up together on a couch, watching Netflix and sharing a bowl of popcorn sprang up in his mind and he shook his head to dispel it.  He wasn’t quite on board the whole chick-flick train just yet, so it was a good thing Sam had Cas around to get all touchy-feely with.

 

            “Dean, can we-“ Sam started.

 

            “No,” Dean replied firmly.  He carried the plate of bacon to the table, where he’d already laid out all the fixings for BLT sandwiches, something he and Sam often compromised on, as long as Dean let Sam slap a few leaves of lettuce onto his sandwiches, he could eat his fill without having to listen to any of Sam’s health nut bull crap.  “Not yet,” he sighed as he sat down at the table.  Dean looked up at Cas and Sam, standing on the other side of the table, holding hands like two lost little kids.  A sudden, brief flare of anger sparked inside him and he instantly recognized it as the Mark’s calling card.  He watched Sam’s forehead crease in confused worry and he quickly quashed the anger, slightly startled that it had been so easy to quiet what he felt could have easily blown up into another roiling mass of rage, the kind that ended in blood, if he could end it at all.  He offered his brother and Cas a watery smile and pointed at the seats in front of them, “Sit, eat.  Plenty of time to talk later. Just…give me a minute, okay?”

 

            Sam’s shoulders relaxed, and he answered Dean’s smile with a little quirk of his lips and sat in a chair, “Okay, Dean, sure.”  Castiel took the seat next to him and pulled the loaf of bread over, taking out a couple slices of sourdough for Sam.  Dean breathed out the tension he’d been holding onto and silently set to work making his own sandwiches out of the soft white bread.  As he finished up his first two sandwiches, he glanced up to find Castiel cutting a sandwich in half and handing one half of it to Sam.  Dean watched the two eat, both taking bites at the same time, chewing for the same length of time, swallowing in sync, reaching for the beers Dean had set out for them simultaneously, both taking a swig at the same time and placing their bottles back to the surface of the table with the exact same amount of force, then picking up their sandwiches and repeating the bizarre synchronized eating dance they’d just performed.  Dean watched for another few minutes before he spoke up.  “Thought you guys weren’t hungry.”  They shrugged at the same time, both with only the left shoulder.  “Alright,” Dean said calmly, placing his third sandwich back on the plate with only one bite gone, “are you two just doing that to fuck with me, or what?”

 

            “Doing what?” Sam asked while Castiel simply looked the question at him.

 

            Dean flipped his hand at them, “That, that eating at the same time, drinking at the same time…that thing,” Sam and Cas looked at each other, both with their right hands on their beers, poised to lift the bottles simultaneously, “And you shrugged at the same time, with the same shoulder.  So, what is all that? Plus, you both were pretty sure you weren’t hungry, but Cas, you made a sandwich just how Sam likes his and shared it with him.  Hell, you’re getting more of that nasty bread out to make another one!  What the fuck are you doing?”  Cas and Sam looked away guiltily.  “What’s going on?”

 

            They looked at each other and Sam nodded at Cas, who sighed and went about making another sandwich, “I…have a theory, or at least the beginning of one, if you’d like to hear it?”

 

            “Alright, hit me,” Dean felt a pull from his stomach again and picked up his sandwich, not taking his eyes off Castiel as he listened.

 

            “Well, I should start with what I have observed, I suppose.  After you left the shower room, Sam expressed his fears concerning his renewed…interest, in demon blood,” Dean almost choked on his half-chewed bite, seizing his beer and washing the mess down before he could spit it across the table.  Sam blushed and took his half of the sandwich from Castiel, shoving half of it in his mouth quickly. “He said he was scared he might hurt one or both of us, but he _thought_ he would want to die before letting that happen. I heard that thought, sort of.”

 

            “You _sorta_ read Sam’s suicidal thoughts?”

 

            Castiel replied around a mouthful of sandwich, “More like…felt it, I guess is a better way to think of it.” He swallowed and chased it down with a sip of beer.  At least he and Sam had stopped the Bobbsey twins act, “Then when we came in here, we both,” he glanced at Sam for confirmation.  Sam nodded as he finished his sandwich, “felt your hunger, where we had not previously wanted food at all.  It was…like…sympathy hunger.”

 

            Dean thought about what Castiel was laying down as he finished his sandwich then his beer.  He watched Castiel finish eating and start clearing the table, something that was usually Sam’s job if Dean cooked.  Sam caught him watching Cas and quirked an eyebrow at his brother.  “So, what? You think we have some kind of…psychic connection now, just because we fucked?”

 

            Castiel rolled his eyes, “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but essentially, yes.  Even you cannot deny what transpired was…fundamentally life-changing…for all of us.”

 

            “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘even me’?  What? Like I’m some kind of emotional retard, I can’t even understand feelings now?” Dean felt the twinge of the Mark heating up under his skin.

 

            Sam leveled him with a stare and the twinge dulled to a ghost of itself until it was gone, “I think he means the fact that you’re a _demon_ , Dean, and demons aren’t really known for being all that empathetic.”

 

            Dean let his eyes fill with black smoke, just to see if he could.  From the bitchface Sammy launched at him, he succeeded.  “You’re…em _pathetic_ ,” he grumbled at his brother.  Sam smirked and scoffed at the ridiculous attempted insult.  “So, what happens now?  Is it gonna get stronger every time we, ya know, get it on?  Does it only work if it’s all of us, or can it get stronger for two of us if the third is out of the Bunker or whatever? Is this what’s making the Mark fade?  And how have I not flown off the handle yet?”

 

            Castiel let the plates clatter into the sink and whirled around to glare at Dean, “I don’t **_know_**!  I don’t know the answer to any of that!”  If Sam didn’t know better, he’d have said Dean flinched in the face of Castiel’s frustration.  “I also have questions, Dean!  How do I still have my Grace?  How do I know it’s growing stronger when I can barely feel it?  How does Sam know something is coming and why doesn’t he know what it is?  Why hasn’t he torn your throat out to get at your blood?  I. Don’t. Know!”

 

            Dean cut his eyes over to Sam in a panic, “You’re having visions again?”

 

            Sam sighed and looked at each of them in turn with a coolness that had Dean’s shoulders lowering from around his ears and Castiel’s fists unclenching.  Sam cleared his throat and spoke in a level tone, “I didn’t have a vision, more like a feeling.  Something’s coming, but I don’t know who or what, or even whether it’s bad or good, just that it’s big, like change-the-world big.  Until I pick up more information, there’s nothing we can do, so we shouldn’t panic yet.”

 

            Dean looked at his bare feet and realized he could feel the chill of the Bunker’s kitchen tile through the soles of his feet.  He stood up abruptly, “Well, we need to figure out what’s going on with us, right?  Then we can try to figure out what’s coming.  With our luck, it’s something bad. Alright, you two hit the books,” he started walking out of the kitchen, but Castiel’s hand on his arm stopped him.

 

            “Where are you going?”

 

           Dean looked down at where Castiel gripped his arm, his eyebrows raised as he looked angrily back at the defiant angel, “I’m gonna hit the bricks, go talk to some people who might have some answers.”

 

            Castiel swallowed but tipped his chin up, hoping his nerves didn't translate through the connection.  The fact of the matter was, Dean was still a demon, even as...normal, as he was acting, “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Dean.  We don’t know if this…connection, is even fully formed.  How do we know it won’t just…snap if you leave? I think you should stay with us.”

 

            “I agree with Cas, Dean.  Just stay here until we figure something out, please?  I mean, anything could happen out there.  You could get hurt like this, we don’t know if the connection has weakened you.  You could…hurt someone else,” Sam finished on a whisper, his fear for his brother temporarily overridden by his fear _of_ his brother.

 

            “Look, number one, I didn’t ask what you two grannies think.  Number two, I just need to talk to a couple people, I’m not gonna hurt anyone…who doesn’t deserve it.  And I feel fine, you both know I could take care of myself just fine even before I was a demon, so…just don’t worry your pretty little heads about it.  I’ll be back before you know it.  Just get to researchin’ and hold down the fort.” He easily shook off Cas’ hand and walked out of the kitchen.  “Maybe you two can paint each other’s nails while I’m gone,” he muttered as he passed through the doorway.

 

            Sam and Castiel watched him leave, trepidation thrumming between them on the delicate wires of the newly-forged connection.  Finally, Castiel walked over to Sam, pushing a strand of his hair behind his ear and nudging his knees between Sam’s legs, “Well, he certainly seems like the old Dean,” he said softly.  Sam huffed a humorless laugh and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s hips, burying his face in the angel’s stomach.


	8. Got You (Where I Want You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Sam research their connection and the fading Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last of the finished chapters. Consequently, updates may slow down a bit from here on out. But this is the halfway point, so, there's that.
> 
> Trigger Warnings, Ch. 8: Blood drinking, Sexual Biting

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 8: Got You (Where I Want You)

**_“Well, I think you’re smart / You sweet thing / Tell me your sign / I’m dying here / Got you where I want you, yeah / Got you where I want you / Where I want you, I want you / Suffer, suffer / You don’t get no rougher / When you rock me, baby / Torture me like no other”_ **

-The Fly’s, ‘Got You (Where I Want You)’

 

            Sam let his head fall to the page open in front of him, the tightness in his shoulders unclenching just a bit as he forcibly tried to relax the muscles.  Castiel’s long fingers came around the mounds of his shoulders and worked with strength into the bunching muscles, making their way toward the biggest knots behind Sam’s neck.  Sam groaned breathlessly into the tome under his head.  It hadn’t proven any use in their current predicament, he might as well use it for a pillow.

 

            “Twelve hours yesterday and sixteen today, Sam, we have to admit there’s nothing here,” Castiel mumbled above his head.

 

            “I can still look in the last volume of Culver’s Demonic Lexicon,” Sam grumbled.  The fifth volume was currently cradling his head, the sixth (and last) was just out of reach across the table.  Castiel sighed and took his hands away from Sam’s shoulders, placing his right hand on the goat-skin bound volume in question.  He closed his eyes and flipped through the book in his memory.  He’d already gone through this set of demonic texts, but Sam had started double checking every book right behind Castiel around hour fourteen of their twenty-eight-hour research marathon.

 

            “There’s nothing,” Castiel bent to brush Sam’s hair away from his face and breathed into his ear, “Come to bed while you still have enough energy to be of use.”  Castiel slid away, smirking at the spike of interest he felt coming from Sam.  The younger Winchester was not as sexually-charged as his older brother, but that wasn’t to say he did not still retain a higher-than-average libido.  After falling into bed the night before, they had curled into each other and dropped off to sleep almost instantly.  They had discovered that the connection between them was somewhat muted this morning, as if someone had turned the volume down from quiet to quietest.  They hadn’t been able to discern if it was Dean’s continued absence or the influence of his blood wearing off, but they had only been able to pick up the most fleeting feelings and impressions from each other, and nothing from Dean, all day.  They had only just begun to develop this connection, and already Castiel was mourning it’s loss, or rather, its lessening.  He’d been much more tactile with Sam as a result and he was starting to crave the younger man’s touch, much like he’d craved pizza nonstop when he was fully human.  Castiel breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the library chair grinding against the wooden floor.

 

            Castiel tried not to run down the hall to Sam’s room when he heard the unmistakable steps behind him, but the urge was there.  His dynamic with Sam had always been a more openly emotional one than his interactions with Dean.  Something of the awe Sam had felt when he encountered his first real angel remained, despite everything.  Cas had always loved that about Sam.  Who doesn’t like a little hero worship now and again?  But over the course of the last few days, Cas had started to sense an undercurrent thrumming beneath every word and deed from Sam.  A hunger, animalist and fraught with unrequited longing, like a sour taste at the back of Castiel’s tongue, was there every time Sam looked at him.  His heavy footfalls behind Cas as he came down the hallway made the angel feel like prey and he felt a shudder of anticipation crawl up his spine.  He found he rather looked forward to being consumed by Sam.

 

            He was barely over the threshold when a big hand came down on his shoulder, spinning him effortlessly around.  Sam loomed over him threateningly, but his words were reassuring, mumbled endearments that sounded, on the surface, a little like love, but rang with lust.  Castiel let his head fall back, baring his throat for Sam’s mouth and the taller man pounced, enfolding Castiel’s smaller body entirely, and dragged him toward the bed.  They’d both started the day out with very little clothing, Castiel clad in only a pair of loose sweats, and Sam made quick work of getting them both naked, growling at his own jeans when they didn’t immediately spring open and fling themselves off his body.  Naked, he prowled up the bed and hovered over Castiel where the angel sprawled on the big bed with a leer.  Castiel smiled minutely back at him, just the barest quirk of lips, “I’m not going to fight you,” Sam’s smile fell, and he tipped his head in confusion, “so don’t feel like you have to hold back,” Castiel offered breathily.  Sam’s face started to close off and Castiel could feel Sam pushing the mounting hunger away, pushing it down.  He flung out an arm and latched onto the back of Sam’s neck, letting his desperation blare out through the weakened connection, trying to meet hunger with eagerness, telling Sam without a word that he _wanted_ to be feasted upon.  Sam gasped as Castiel pulled him into a sloppy kiss, wriggling under him like a trapped animal.

 

            Sam felt the dim flame of greed burst to life, a fire that consumed his mind and overwrote all his previously tender feelings for Cas.  He hadn’t even been aware of it, but deep inside burned a need to take, to devour, to possess the angel.  He wanted to mark him up, inside and out, and leave him depleted and replete on the mattress.  Sam clamped his arms around the smaller man and growled into the kiss, jamming his knees under Castiel’s thighs and tightening them on his hips.  He released Castiel’s lips and the angel gasped a huge gulp of air, head thrown back as Sam sucked a hard bruise into his stubbled jaw.  Castiel grunted as Sam let more of his bulk pin him to the bed, a clear warning not to move.  Castiel smiled as he wiggled his hips just the tiniest bit, his cock catching on Sam’s before sliding away to rub on his hip.  Sam growled louder this time and locked his hold tighter, fingers digging into the skin of Castiel’s back and forcing a huff out of the angel.  Castiel ceased his struggles and went loose in Sam’s grip.  Sam hummed his approval and made his way to Cas’ chest, sucking and biting purple marks all along the way.

 

            Having someone so powerful fall still and loose beneath him, someone who could easily (and had, in the past) knock Sam out with the slightest touch, Sam’s breath hitched, and he dared a quick glance up at Castiel’s face.  Castiel simply smiled that little tilt of his lips back at Sam.  “This is different, but it’s okay, Sam,” Castiel petted a hand softly through Sam’s hair, “Everything you want, anything you want, it’s all…okay.  You can have me, have Dean, have anything you want from either of us, both of us, neither of us.  I want what you want, I still feel you.  Can you feel me?” Sam nodded dumbly, hypnotized by Castiel’s words, as he felt the connection burn brighter, fueled by their proximity and perhaps simply by the emotions flooding the tenuous thread strung between them.  “Then you know it’s fine, it’s…good.  This is good, this is a way to strengthen each other and ourselves.”  Castiel took Sam’s big face in his hands, drawing their mouths together, and spoke softly against Sam’s lips, “This thing…is evolving, Sam. Let it become…what it will…become,” Castiel licked softly across Sam’s bottom lip and a wild lust ripped through the bigger man.  Sam groaned and kissed Castiel hard, biting firmly into his bottom lip and tugging the soft flesh as he made his way back down to Castiel’s jaw.

 

            Sam pushed Castiel’s face to the left, opening the angel up for his mouth.  Sam practically purred as he left red suck marks all down Cas’ smooth neck.  Sam spoke with difficulty through the swirl of desire, love, and power that was beginning to cloud his brain, “I want…I want…God, Cas, so much,” Castiel hummed his approval, encouraging Sam to go on, and to go lower, “It’s…it’s like electricity…it’s like air and home and water and…a-and I just…”

 

            “It’s okay, Sam,” Castiel groaned as the younger man pushed his legs up and back, exposing his hole.  Sam moaned as he laved his tongue over Castiel’s puckered skin, “It’s so good,” Castiel breathed, thighs already trembling with pleasure, “Take what you need…ah, ah…and give me…what I need…ahhh, Sam, yes, please…”  Sam licked a stripe up Castiel’s perineum, along the crease between his balls and his thigh, and all the way up his cock.  Castiel hummed and groaned, huffed out an exasperated breath when Sam slowed down and lapped up the precum puddled on Cas’ lower stomach, and let the pleas and praise flow from his lips.  Sam didn’t say another word, using growls and his big hands to get Cas into the position he wanted.  Castiel star-fished across the bed and let Sam hike his hips up with a smile pressed into the pillow under his head.  Sam raced through the prep, holding Castiel’s hip down with one hand as he pumped four lube-slick fingers into him and worried the skin of one shoulder between his teeth.

 

            He didn’t give a single word of warning as he quickly pulled his hand out of the angel and replaced it with his dick in one grunted thrust.  Cas yelped in surprise and grabbed onto the pillow, drawing it in with bunched fists under his chest, supporting himself on his elbows to leverage his hips up and back, meeting Sam’s rough rhythm stroke for stroke.  Sam groaned and planted his left foot on the bed, tucking his heel under Castiel’s hip, and held the angel down with his hands gripping his shoulders.  The new angle kept Castiel from doing any of the work, forcing him to stay still and take whatever Sam was giving him, especially after Sam bent forward to growl in his ear before he sucked the lobe into his mouth.  His hot breathes huffed out of his nose as he pounded into the body beneath him, punching out grunts to rival Cas’ muffled whimpers as he pummeled the angel’s prostate mercilessly, grinding his big dick inside the other man’s ass until Castiel was sobbing and begging to come.  Sam grinned evilly into Castiel’s neck before he backed up and yanked the smaller man up onto his knees, then flipped him over and plunged back into to the slick heat of Cas’ hole.

 

            Sam bent over, rolling his hips in long strokes, and wrapped Castiel up in his arms, their sweat-slick skin flushed and sticky.  Castiel grabbed at Sam’s long hair, pulling it back from his face and using his grip to pull the younger Winchester in for a filthy kiss.  His tongue swiping through Castiel’s moans of pleasure, Sam pushed in harder, deeper, faster, until he felt the heat of his orgasm gathering at the base of his spine.  His teeth caught on Cas’ bottom lip and he stayed there, nipping on the soft skin as Castiel panted into his mouth.  Castiel gave an inarticulate cry and his cock thickened between them, spilling warmth against Sam’s stomach.  The muscles surrounding Sam’s dick tightened and rippled, sending Sam flying off the edge and he bit down involuntarily as he pumped deep inside the angel.  A hot spurt of blood flooded his mouth and a blinding light exploded in his head at the same time Castiel screamed through another orgasm.

 

            The sharp sting of Sam’s teeth in his lip was eclipsed momentarily as another climax rushed through the angel and it took him a moment to come down enough to realize Sam was still latched onto his mouth, sucking hard at the little bit of blood still flowing from the bite.  Castiel grunted in confusion and pulled his lip out of Sam’s mouth with not a little effort, barely avoiding tearing the skin any worse.  Castiel grabbed Sam’s jaw and dragged his face up as his big body shuddered all around Cas.  Before he could ask what was wrong, Sam’s eyes sparked a Grace blue and subsided into a brilliant purple as the younger man groaned and let his eyes roll up into his head.  Licking his lips, Sam looked back down at Castiel and smiled.  He fucked up into the angel one, two, three more times and came again.  Cas felt the rush of heat as Sam filled his ass again and lovingly stroked his sweaty hair with shaking hands.  The purple light faded from his eyes as he came down from his high, but he made no move to pull his dick out, opting to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, his face soft as he let his gaze search Castiel’s flushed face.

 

            “Oh, angel,” Sam’s voice was deeper somehow, but soft and reverent, “I feel…oh, I feel…so _much_ …”  Sam rolled his still-hard cock in and out of Cas’ messy hole, the wet sounds obscene compared to the adoration beaming out of Sam’s face.  Castiel ran his tongue along his bottom lip and felt the puncture had already closed.  Sam just smiled broader and slipped his hand between them to palm at Castiel’s rapidly filling dick.  Castiel gasped at the touch to his over-sensitive flesh, his back arching under Sam as the bigger man’s thrusts came a little faster.  Cas frantically sunk into himself, a suspicion growing until he _had_ to know.  He didn’t have to go nearly as far or look nearly as hard to find it.  His growing Grace sang sweetly inside him, a perfect counterpoint to the happy humming of Sam against the skin of his neck.  An involuntary burst of joy gusted out of the angel as a breathy laugh.  Castiel gripped Sam’s upper arms and watched his eyes as the younger man brought them both spiraling up and up.  He felt the connection humming back to life, brightening everything in his field of view.  He felt a tug in his lower stomach as another orgasm built there, bringing with it a vision of Dean, his head thrown back in ecstasy against the leather seat of the Impala, his right hand rubbing his crotch over his jeans.

 

            A brief shot of panic burbled up through the connection, until Castiel felt Sam in his head, directing the vision to Dean’s surroundings, like he was turning Castiel’s head with his hands.  The car was tilted slightly because Dean had pulled over to the verge as he brought himself off.  Sam’s and Cas’ names fluttered back through the connection as Dean came in his pants with a groan, setting off their own orgasms. 

 

            Sam clasped a limp and sated Castiel to his chest and turned them over until they were facing each other on their sides.  Castiel let Sam tuck his chin over the top of his head as they both felt Dean smiling.  “ _I’m almost home, if you two can keep your hands off each other for a little while and let me drive,”_ they both felt more than heard.  Castiel snuggled deeper into Sam’s body, tangling their legs together, and settled in to wait for Dean.


	9. Hold Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean confronts Crowley

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 9: Hold Me Down

**_“Hold me down / Hold me down / Throw me in the deep end and watch me drown / Knock me out / Knock me out / Sayin’ that I want more, this is what I live for”_ **

-Halsey, ‘Hold Me Down’

 

            Crowley was having a shite day.  Most days were shite, it was _Hell_ , after all, but today had been especially bad.  He could blame the various and sundry demons who had been causing no end of the wrong kind of trouble up Top, forcing him to institute a demon-wide recall for a little reeducation workshop.  He could blame humans for being…well, _humans_.  He could even (and frequently did) blame Dean Winchester for puking all over his carefully laid plans for ruling Hell with a Knight as his beck and call girl.  He could blame Moose, for trying to use him to complete the last Trial, hooking him on human blood and the lingering _feelings_ that had enabled him to crush so hard on Squirrel that he’d been happy at the thought of sharing his throne.  But he couldn’t really blame any of them because the only person to blame was himself.

 

            Sentiment had ruined thousands of years of very careful ladder climbing and precise scheming.  The sacrifices he’d made to get to the top of Hell’s heap made his stomach roll sickeningly when he thought about how he was using that power now.  A year ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do whatever was necessary to bring Dean Winchester to heel, but now, he was reduced to torturing low-level demons in an attempt to psych himself up to _talk_ to the bastard.  Said ‘talk’ would most likely consist of veiled (but completely empty) threats on his part and a good deal of sneering refusal on Dean’s.  The best he could hope for, at this point, was that Dean would still be too mired in the surface world and all its distractions to take his rightful place on Hell’s throne.  If he kept the Knight pointed firmly North, toward Moose and Feathers, Crowley might be able to eke out a few more decades as top dog.  The whole situation was almost enough to drive him back to the Red Menace, his arm itching abominably every time he thought longingly of the rush he got from injecting warm human blood into his veins.

 

            Crowley threw the melon baller down on the little rolling table in disgust.  Not with himself, of course.  He may be willing to admit privately that he only had himself to blame, but he wasn’t so bad as to actually _feel_ the guilt.  Cleaning himself with a snap of his fingers, Crowley made his way through the ether to the place he felt the strongest pull.  As a minion of Hell, he was attuned to the call of the Mark, just like every demon everywhere.  The instinct to kneel before its bearer was gut-wrenchingly difficult to deny but deny it he did.  Dean didn’t need to know the power he could wield over the dominion of Hell if he so chose.  It was bad enough that Cain knew he could takeover any time he wanted.  Luckily for Crowley, he’d never even hinted that he felt one iota of interest in the dealings of Hell.  Nobody in the vast and winding halls of Hell wanted the Father of Murder to stride through the door and crack the whip on their shenanigans.  The news Crowley had received yesterday was disturbingly close to being an indication that Cain was having a change of heart.

 

            Crowley stood at the far end of the long cell block and watched Cain stride purposefully toward the solitary confinement cell of an especially heinous murderer.  “Daddy’s home,” he muttered to himself, disappearing as the first screams drifted out of the cell.

 

********************************************************************************************************** 

 

            The sounds of a brief but intense scuffle filtered through the doorway to the throne room and Crowley reluctantly put his tablet aside.  He’d resisted Bael’s suggestion that he update the way he kept track of Hell’s affairs, but the little electronic nuisance had sort of grown on him.  Of course, it had taken him months to get used to the iPad’s operating system and loudly complained about having to use an Apple product, but as Bael constantly reminded him, this _was_ Hell.  He was thoroughly unsurprised to see Dean sauntering in through the now-open door.  Crowley tried mightily to quash the rush of lust that tried to overwhelm his brain at the first sight of that crooked smirk.

 

            “Squirrel,” he hummed smoothly, “to what do I owe the displeasure?”

 

            “I need answers, Crowley,” Dean ground out as he approached the throne, “and you’re gonna give ‘em to me.”

 

            “Mmmm, straight to business, then,” Crowley purposefully lounged deeper into the throne, making an effort to appear unperturbed by Dean’s proximity, “You do know you’ll have to supply an actual _question_?”

 

            Dean spread his arms out to either side of his body, “See anything different here?”

 

            Crowley couldn’t help the little hum of approval that worked its way out of his throat.  He immediately tried to cover it with clearing his throat impatiently, “Not really, no.  Did you cut your hair maybe?  Are those new boots?” Dean scowled at him and he crossed his legs to hide his treacherous dick’s interest, “I honestly haven’t a clue what you’re on about, Squirrel.  You’ll have to give me a hint.”

 

            Dean thrust his forearm in front of Crowley’s face in a move so quick it took the King’s breath away and he snapped his mouth closed forcibly enough to draw blood from his tongue where it caught between his teeth.  “THIS!! Do you see this shit?!” Dean shouted, “Look at the fucking Mark, you mewling scab! What the fuck is going on?”

 

            With a tremendous effort of will, Crowley kept his flinching to a minimum, rising smoothly from his seat and sweeping Dean’s arm away.  He glared down at the Knight with utter disdain, “And why, pray tell, would I know anything about it, hm? You have gone wildly off the reservation, yet you come here, demanding answers?” Crowley crowded Dean back down the one step he’d managed to mount, “You know, Squirrel, even if I knew what’s going on with you, I don’t think I would tell you anything.”  Two burly demons came up on either side of Dean and he glanced minutely at them before turning his icy glare back on the King of Hell.

 

            “You can’t throw me out, Crowley.  I could kill every single demon on this level of Hell without breaking a sweat and you know it.”

 

            “Could you, now?” Crowley looked pointedly at the fading Mark, “Are you sure about that?” The barest flicker of doubt crossed Dean’s face, sparking a brilliant plan in Crowley’s head.  The two demons took an arm each, which Dean promptly yanked back, before turning and striding for the door.  “Of course,” Dean froze at the doorway, “there is someone else who could tell you more about it.”  Crowley smirked as Dean slowly turned around.  He sat back down on the throne gracefully and crossed his legs, “Why don’t you go see Daddy Cain?  I do believe he has taken a renewed interest in the workings of your favorite little mud monkeys.  Maybe he’s done…something, to affect you both.”

 

            “What,” Dean’s advance was cut off by the two demons again, “What do you mean, ‘renewed interest’?”

 

            “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Squirrel! Come now, surely you don’t expect me to do _all_ the legwork for you?” Dean straightened up stiffly and snorted a humorless laugh before turning to leave.  Crowley waited until he was thoroughly out of earshot before exhaling explosively and slumping in his chair.  It was only a matter of time before Dean tracked Cain down, as active as he’d been Topside lately.  The question Crowley kept waffling over was who he hoped came out of the big showdown intact; the Father of Murder or the Knight he once thought he could love.

 

********************************************************************************************** 

 

            Dean spent exactly 0.003 seconds gauging the breadth and depth of the space between this level of Hell and the surface and decided he couldn’t risk materializing, not with the fading Mark.  He’d also noted the connection he’d felt developing with Sam and Cas had dimmed almost into nonexistence.  He felt uncertainty for the first time since waking up a demon and he seethed at himself for the hesitance.  He emerged Topside immediately above Crowley’s throne room, unsurprised to find himself in downtown Des Moines, stole a shitty little hatchback without a second thought and drove it to the alley where he’d stashed Baby before he’d let Sam capture him days ago.

 

            Behind the wheel of his Baby, Dean felt something slot into place deep inside him, another little sliver of himself settling warmly back where it belonged.  What remained of the Mark twinged its defiance, forcing an answering shiver to race up his spine as his hands tightened on the steering wheel.  Dean wasn’t sure what was happening to them, to him, why all of his carefully laid plans were not only off the rails, but also why he didn’t seem to _care_ that Operation: Make Sammy and the Angel My Pets was blown into the wind like so much dandelion fluff.  Never one prone to introspection at the best of times (said best of times being as a human), Dean found himself sinking into contemplation as the rumble of his beloved car surrounded him as completely as the fondly-maintained leather seat cradled him.  Just as he’d mentioned to Cas, or, rather, as he’d taunted Cas, this thing with his brother had started so much earlier than he’d previously been willing to admit.  Somewhere along the line, sometime between getting advice on how to take care of a sick ten year-old boy from that elderly waitress at the diner across from their motel room in Joliet and letting his knees buckle as he tried to cry silently in the bathroom after the umpteenth fight with Sam over why he wasn’t allowed to join his new friends on their yearly camping trip after school had let out for the summer, a fight during which Sammy had declared his hatred for Dean for the first (but certainly not the last) time; somewhere between the crushing pressure of parenting Sam and striving to be Dad’s perfect little soldier, he’d fallen in love with his own brother.

 

            Had they stayed anywhere long enough for Social Services to have been called to intervene in the situation, Dean might have stood a chance at being able to form healthy romantic attachments with someone outside his immediate family, but as it was, he could never love anyone whose wounds he had not sewn with his own two hands, someone who hadn’t giggled helplessly as Dean ran the hair trimmers delicately around their ear, someone who hadn’t looked up at Dean like he’d hung the moon when he presented them with a birthday cake constructed out of gas station Strawberry Zingers and melted Hershey bars.  His father’s ultimate edict, the driving force of Dean’s life, had always been to look after Sam.  Take care of Sam, feed Sam, make sure Sam has all his school supplies, don’t let Sam stay up too late, help Sam to the toilet when he was too sick to walk by himself.  From the moment his eyes opened every morning to the second his head hit the pillow at night (and a million minutes in the wee hours of the dark), Dean revolved around Sam and his reward for his devotion was mutual orbit of the only star in his sky.  Even when he screamed hatred and frustration into Dean’s face, Dean felt Sam’s love burning behind his words, even though that love was another thing that confused his little brother.  Neither of them had asked to have only each other and Sam bulked at the codependency that had shaped his whole life.  Dean figured that was why he’d run off to Stanford, not to get out from under their father’s obsession, but to get out from under Dean’s oppressive love, his constant and unwavering concern, his suffocating worship.  And what had Dean zeroed in on the minute he got his proverbial cloven hooves under him?  Getting Sam tucked back under his wing.

 

            The whole thing with Castiel was almost as fucked up as the thing with Sam, but instead of a slow, steady burn, Cas had lit a gasoline fire that Dean had been trying to bank for almost a decade.  Burying himself in countless waitresses and even the occasional porn star had done little to quell his secret desire to fuck an angel occupying a male vessel.  Even before Castiel had told them Jimmy had gone on to his eternal reward and the only being inside his body was Cas, there’d been many a morning Dean had woken up from dreams of Castiel, hard and throbbing in his sweats, and ducked into the bathroom of whatever shabby motel he and Sam had been staying in to take care of himself.  Sam would tell him the constant eye-fuckery he’d been witness to ever since Dean came back from Hell was proof enough that Castiel felt some kind of attraction to Dean, but if Dean was good at anything, it was that good ol’ Winchester Denial Dance.  It took the loss of 99% of his conscience to face up to the fact that he wanted Castiel as much as he wanted Sam.  So, he had lumped the two together in his plan to make being a demon as tolerable as possible.  But that wasn’t what had happened. 

 

            Somehow, by whatever agency controls these things, the three of them had started _changing_.  The fading Mark was just the most visible symptom of a larger disease.  Lurking under the surface was the return of some of Dean’s more human emotions, Sam’s powers re-emerging, and Castiel…well, Castiel was becoming a sort of fulcrum, something keeping both Dean and Sam on an even keel.  He brought out the brighter, more tender side of Dean, as corny as that sounded.  He was also incredibly good at grounding Sam, helping him accept his darker powers, channeling them to help them fight the good fight.  Castiel was becoming integral to making them a cohesive unit, turning even their eviler tendencies into tools for good.  He kept them both from going entirely Dark Side.  Without their angel, Dean would have hooked Sam on his blood and dragged him happily into the depths of Hell.  Without Castiel, the brothers would be, at this very moment, wreaking the kind of havoc they had spent their whole lives fighting against.

 

            The truth was, Dean was already missing whatever hoodoo was happening between them, almost as much as he missed the new physical aspects of their strange relationship.  Thinking about said physical aspects got him through the next four hours of driving, although the resulting boner was a little embarrassing when he had to stop for gas.  About an hour out from the bunker, his memories of Sam and Cas changed into what he, at first, thought was his imagination.  The scene playing out in his head got so vivid, he had to pull over to the side of the country highway, the Impala tilting toward the shallow ditch which ran along the side of the road.  Dean’s head thunked on the top of the seat as he scooted his ass forward and let the images and sensations wash over him.  He could practically feel Sammy’s huge dick sliding in and out of his twitching hole at the same time he felt the tight, wet heat of Castiel enveloping his cock.  Dean groaned low in his throat and finally put his hand over his denim-trapped dick.  He felt/saw Sam’s warm come splash inside him, marking him up.  He saw/felt Castiel’s ass tighten and spasm around his dick.  As soon as he realized they could see/feel him while he rubbed at his dick over his jeans, Dean came with a bitten off cry, in his pants like a teenager.  The waves of pleasure crashed into him and he almost felt like they were both with him, touching him, holding him and he almost sobbed with relief at being able to sense them so strongly again.  As he floated back down from his high, he chuckled at his brother and their angel through the connection, he could feel their impatience to get their hands on him.  He decided to try something and sent a thought out to them, “ _I’m almost home, if you two can keep your hands off each other for a little while and let me drive.”_ Sam’s huff of amusement and Castiel’s grumbled pout came back loud and clear.

 

 

            Despite their previous urgency, when Dean finally sauntered in through the garage, he found Sam and Castiel in the Library.  Sam was sat at a table, laptop glow lighting up his beautiful face, with Cas bent over his shoulder, concentration creasing his brow in a decidedly _not_ completely adorable way.  Dean sighed involuntarily when a tension he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying eased simply from being in the same room with them again.  He strode right up to Castiel, gripped his shoulder, turned him just enough to capture his mouth, and laid a solidly filthy kiss on the angel.  Just as Castiel was melting into him nicely, Dean released his mouth and slid a hand along Sam’s jaw, tipping his brother’s head back for a slick slide of lips that had Cas groaning in sympathy.  “Missed you guys,” Dean murmured against Sam’s mouth.

 

            Sam’s only response was a mumbled hum.  Dean smiled down into his face as Castiel started working his lips along his stubbled jawline.  Dean turned his attention back to the angel, letting Castiel invade his mouth with an urgent tongue, Cas’ long fingers holding him in place.  When he finally let Dean up for air, he’d backed the demon up to the table.  Dean instinctively sought out Sam, who had gotten out of the chair and was leaning against the table next to Dean, eyes dark with hunger as he watched their angel peel Dean’s flannel off his shoulders.

 

            “Sammy,” Dean whimpered, grabbing his brother by the back of his head, their mouths meeting in a brutal clash, Sam immediately trying to devour Dean as he stripped his own shirts off hastily.  Castiel backed up long enough to pull a bottle of lube out of his sweats and handed it to Dean before slipping them over his hips and straining erection.  Sam’s fingers scrambled at Dean’s jeans, “Off, take…’em off,” he muttered into Dean’s mouth.  Cas stepped back in, already completely naked, and took the lube from Dean, setting it on the table.  Sam fumbled Dean’s t shirt off while Castiel divested the taller man of his own under shirt.  When Sam stopped so Cas could pull his t shirt over his head, Dean pulled his own undershirt off and went to work on his jeans, shucking them quickly.  Castiel took over kissing Sam while getting his jeans down his hips.  Sam turned Cas around until his thighs hit the table and pushed between his shoulder blades to make him bend over.  Dean walked around the table and bent over to kiss Castiel before pushing his head down until the angel was eye level with his hard cock.  Castiel mouthed at the head, teasing out drops of precum, while Sam bent over, spreading Cas’ cheeks apart, and flicked his long tongue along Cas’ tight hole.  Castiel stretched his neck out, grabbing onto Dean’s hips to haul him closer, and groaned as he took Dean’s dick all the way to the back of his mouth.

 

            “Ah fuck, Cas…yes,” Dean sighed, burying his hands in Cas’ hair as the angel squirmed on the table.  Sam had stepped out of his jeans and was kneeling, completely occupied with eating Cas out.  After a few minutes, Cas whimpered around Dean’s dick, sending electric vibrations along his length.  “Shit…come on, Sammy…ah, fuck…get him up…get him up here…” Dean begged.  Sam stood up reluctantly, lips swollen and shiny-wet.  He slapped Cas’ ass, loving the jiggle, and their angel scrambled up on the table.  He knee-walked over to Dean, cupping his stubbly jaw, and kissed him slow and sweet.  Sam shut his laptop and placed it on the chair he’s been sitting in before scooting it out of the way.  Dean guided Cas into a sitting position, his legs spread around Dean’s hips, then gently lowered his back to the table surface.  Sam took over kissing Castiel as Dean stood back up and caught Cas’ legs by the backs of his knees.  Heaving the angel’s legs up, Dean bent to get a taste of Cas’ hole covered in Sam’s saliva and moaned at the combined flavors of the two people he loved.  Castiel took over holding his legs back and Dean grabbed the lube, squirting some on his fingers to warm it.

 

            Dean mouthed wetly at Cas’ balls and the base of his cock where it twitched against his stomach and watched Sammy plant a foot on the table, lowering his balls to Cas’ mouth, dragging his hard dick across Cas’ stubbly chin and groaning at the feeling.  Dean started working Cas’ hole open, slipping one finger in and stroking the lube along his inner walls.  Quickly, he was up to three and Cas was grunting around Sam’s dick as it plunged down his throat.  Dean couldn’t wait to be balls deep in Cas’ tight hole, hands shaking with want as he lubed up his throbbing dick and sunk into the wet heat of their angel’s ass, moaning as he bottomed out.  Sam was looking down as Cas swallowed around his cock.  He pulled almost all the way out, so he could see Cas’ eyes, blown wide with lust and watering copiously.  “Cas, your fuckin’ mouth, baby,” he mumbled, bending over to kiss the taste of himself out of Cas’ mouth, the angel’s lips gone numb and sloppy with overuse.  Dean grinned at his brother as Sam stood back up.  Sam grabbed the back of his older brother’s neck and licked into his mouth, both men groaning into the kiss as Dean fucked into Cas, pushing his mouth along the underside of Sam’s cock.

 

            Sam broke off the kiss and pulled away from Cas, who sat up to kiss Dean as the older hunter pounded into him, striking his prostate on every second or third thrust.  Sam walked around the table to stroke his brother’s back and ass, admiring the way the thick muscles slid over each other as Dean’s hips worked.  Sam bent over and took Cas’ leaking cock in his mouth.  Castiel screamed and clamped his hand down on Sam’s head, pushing him all the way down.  Cas’ eyes rolled back in his head at the dual sensations of Dean’s thick cock spearing his ass and Sam’s talented mouth swallowing his dick, “De-dean…Sam…my…so…so close…ungh…please…pl-please…”

 

            “Nuh uh, angel,” Dean tutted, slowing his thrusts and pulling Sam’s mouth off Cas’ dick, “Not yet, baby, wanna watch you come on Sammy’s dick.”  Sam and Castiel both groaned at that and Dean pulled out entirely, maneuvering his little brother around the table and covering his huge cock in lube while he kissed him deeply. “Fuck, baby boy, taste so good,” Dean growled.  He reluctantly released Sam and turned him toward Cas, smoothing his hands over his brother’s broad back as Sam stuffed that monster cock inside their angel, all three of them groaning, Cas’ back arching off the table at the stretch and burn.  Dean watched Sammy fuck Cas for a few minutes, just enjoying the beauty of them together, and stroked his own dick loosely.  He finally got behind Sam and rutted against his ass as his hips rolled.  Sam looked over his shoulder and nodded in that silent form of communication they had.  He bent over Cas, fucking into him with long, deep strokes, tucking his left arm under Cas’ shoulders and holding him tight.  Castiel mouthed along his jaw, sucking hickeys into his neck as his dick was rubbed between their sweaty stomachs.

 

            Dean lubed up his fingers again and began working his little brother open, groaning at the way Sam’s ass tightened every time he pushed into Cas.  Two fingers in and Sam was begging for his older brother to fuck him, sobbing into Cas’ mouth when he felt the hot, blunt head of Dean’s dick at his entrance.  Sam pushed his ass out a little and let Dean work his hard cock inside with cautious strokes, until he was fully seated and grunting into Sam’s shoulder blade, his arms wrapped tightly around Sam’s chest.  Castiel’s eyes went wide when he realized what was happening and smiled beatifically up at Sam before dragging him down for another lazy kiss.

 

            Dean finally gripped Sam’s hips, pushing him away and into Castiel before pulling him back onto his own dick.  The heat and clench were incredible, and he knew that none of them could last.  Grasping onto one of Sam’s big shoulders and his slim hip, Dean built up a punishing rhythm, reveling in the almost pained whimpers issuing from Cas’ mouth.  “Fuck…come…on…angel…take that…big cock…ungh…Sammy…feel so good…fuck, baby…squeezin’ my…dick, so…fuckin’ tight…little brother…fuck, yeah…so good…just like…that…Cas…Cas…baby…fuck yes…wanna come on Sammy’s dick?  Come on, baby…come on his cock…show ‘im…show ‘im how good…good he is…how good it feels…”

 

            Cas keened, high and reedy, as his thighs clamped tight around Sam’s ribs and his ass locked down on Sam’s dick.  “Fuck… _fuck_!” Sam gritted out as Cas shot between them.  Dean didn’t even slow down as he moved them, smearing Cas’ release between their stomachs and that was it for Sam.  He pulled Cas’ face to his by the back of the angel’s neck and sealed their mouths together, letting Cas swallow his screams as his orgasm hit him.  Sam’s big body shivered and shook around Cas as he peaked and emptied inside him, crying into their kiss as Cas ran his hands up and down his slick skin.  Dean grunted and lost all rhythm, humping hard into Sam as his inner muscles spasmed, arms grappling around Sam’s chest and his face buried in his brother’s back.  Dean bit down on the salty skin of Sam’s back as his orgasm rolled through him.  Sam shuddered out one final blurt of come deep inside Castiel as he felt Dean sink his teeth in, groaning and nearly collapsing on Cas.

 

            “Fuck,” Dean panted from where he was draped across Sam’s back, “Fuck, guys…love you, Sammy…Cas…love you, Cas, angel…so much…”  Dean shivered as he pulled his dick out of Sam’s abused hole.  Sam grunted his disapproval of that method and let his own soft dick slip naturally out of Cas, who was still smiling up at him.

 

            Sam picked Castiel up from the table and set him on his feet.  Dean took Sam’s hand and led them to the shower.  Afterward, Sam insisted they all get dressed in sweats and pajama bottoms so they could show Dean what they’d found while he was gone.  Sam set his laptop back up on the Library table and sat Dean down in front of it.

 

            Dean read silently for a few minutes, clicking between open windows, until he saw the pattern Sam had hinted at.  He finally shut the laptop with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face.  Sam and Cas sat across from him with identical looks of worry on their faces.  “So, we’re thinking it’s Cain, right?”  Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and Castiel nodded grimly.

 

            “Ye-yeah, but Dean, how’d…I mean what made you think…” Sam sputtered.  Before Dean even had a chance to answer, Sam and Castiel saw/felt an image of Crowley sitting smugly on his overblown throne, as well as the feeling of creeping disgust Dean felt whenever he was in Crowley’s presence.  “Oh,” Sam muttered, “You guys know what we have to do?”

 

            Dean hung his head.  “He has to die,” Castiel stated simply but firmly.  The three looked at each other briefly, back and forth, until Sam yawned hugely.  Dean chuckled, breaking the tension that had mounted in the face of this latest revelation.

 

            “After a nap, I think, Cas,” Sam’s exhaustion flooded the connection as Dean pulled him to his feet with a wry smile.  “Come on, angel, we could all use a little sleep before we try to put Cain down.”  Castiel nodded his acquiescence and followed the brothers down the hall to Sam’s room.  With Dean’s return and their time together on the Library table, Castiel felt the connection thrumming back to life, stronger than ever, but the downside to that was the shared fatigue and hunger of Sam’s fully human body.  His growing Grace wasn’t quite enough to sustain his own body through its needs, much less Sam’s and Dean seemed disinclined to let Sam sleep alone ever again.  Castiel could feel Dean’s pique at having to wait to take on Cain, but there was also an underlying current of regret issuing from the demon.  Castiel looked a question at Dean as they settled down on either side of Sam, but Dean just shook his head, sending ‘ _later_ ’ through the connection.  Cas sighed and turned over, letting Sam curl his big body around him, knowing Dean was wrapped around his brother from the other side.  It wasn’t long before Sam pulled them all down into sleep.


	10. Counting Bodies Like Sheep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter a little like When the Levee Breaks, a little disjointed and slightly vague.
> 
> This has been a rough day for me, so I took a break from homework to write this to cheer myself up.
> 
> Yes, I'm fucking with the time line of Season 10, trust me, it's only gonna get worse.

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 10: Counting Bodies Like Sheep

**_“Safe from pain and truth and choice / And other poison devils / See, they don’t give a fuck about you, like I do”_ **

-A Perfect Circle, ‘Counting Bodies Like Sheep’

 

_I will never stop._

Dean’s blood rushed through his ears, blocking out all sound and making his sight pulse with the pounding in his head as he screamed his rage and thrust the First Blade through Cain’s spine.  The Mark rang its sinister joy and Dean struggled to keep the manic grin off his face.  He slowly became aware of the voices outside his own head, clamoring for his attention, drawing it away from the peels of laughter ringing through his blood.  His name, was that…were they calling him?  Dean finally turned his head, looking up, and up and up, until his little brother swooped down and engulfed him in big arms, the familiar Sammy-scents invading his nostrils and working not unlike smelling salts on his muddled brain.  Dean gasped and clung to Sam, letting his brother pull him up to his feet.  A wall of warmth at his back and the spicy-sweet smell of clove and cinnamon told him Castiel was wrapped around his back.  He closed his eyes and felt the back smoke fill them behind his lids.

 

“Sam,” Dean muttered into the hot skin of his brother’s neck.  The shakes started somewhere in his spine and radiated outward until Dean felt Sam and Cas’ arms tighten around him, the only thing holding him together.  He could feel the jagged spikes of the Mark’s sick delight jouncing along the connection, a schoolyard bully crowing his triumph.  The answering call of Castiel’s soothing calm and Sam’s radiant love overran the Mark’s glee like a steamroller smoothing out crackling hot pavement and Dean sagged in their arms. 

 

 

_The only thing standing between you and that destiny is this blade._

            Crowley held his hand out for the First Blade, but Dean stared at it like he’d never seen such a thing before.  How could he just give it over to Crowley, of all fucking people?  It would be like cutting off his leg or gouging out his eyes, it was a part of him now.  With Cain dead, the Mark glowed with renewed vigor, branching off not just up his arm, but everywhere.  Dean could feel its tendrils reaching in between his fingers, his toes, looping though his ribs, binding him tighter than ever before.  Power surged hot and liquid across his skin, behind his black eyes, eyes he turned on Crowley like the coals of Hell, full of the ancient dark promise of the violence of humanity.  Crowley’s eyes flashed red, briefly, before he dropped them and his outstretched hand.  Castiel’s cool touch on his wrist brought his face around to the angel.  For the first time, Dean didn’t have to put any effort into pulling the black smoke out of his eyes, it just receded like the tide, until he could see green reflected in the dark blue of Castiel’s eyes.  Castiel took the Blade without a single twinge of protest from the Mark and what did that mean?  What did it _mean_?

 

_And then…would come the murder you would never survive.  The one that would turn you into as much of a savage as it did me._

            Sam’s hand on his neck was warm.  Castiel’s hand in his was cool.  Dean’s face was flushed as they walked three abreast through the Map Room.  He felt hotter the closer they got to Sam’s (but wasn’t it really _their_ ) room.  Castiel risked a look over at Dean and immediately steered them toward the shower room.  Dean felt the loss of Sam’s hand when his brother stepped back and let Castiel guide Dean toward one of the sinks.  The whining fluorescent lights lit up the red and black pulsating veins of the Mark as they sketched across his face.  Dean tried to hold onto the feelings of ‘wait’ and ‘calm’ and ‘love’ Castiel and Sam were pushing through the connection.  It was enough to keep him in front of the mirror as Castiel undressed him.  As every riddled inch of his skin was revealed, Dean’s breath quickened until he was nearly panting.  He still couldn’t meet his own eyes in the mirror, focusing instead on Castiel’s elegant hands as they finished divesting him of his clothes.  Those same hands began tracing the turgid veins of pure hate and malice.  Just the lightest touch, but with each pass of the angel’s fingers, the veins started to recede, sinking in and disappearing.  One by one, Castiel erased the visible proof of the truth that was slowly percolating into Dean’s mind.

 

_Then you’d kill the angel Castiel.  Now that…that, I suspect, would hurt something awful._

            Dean let his eyes fill with what his mind knew.  Not the black smoke of the Legions of Hell, not the red pupils of the crossroads demons, not even the sickly yellow of the Knights of Hell, but the green-gold of the First Knight.  He let the shifting prism fill his eyes before condensing it into his pupils with a flash of light.  Castiel had finally finished his work and stepped back as Dean turned to him and Sam.  Sam’s chest heaved, his chin lifted in defiance of the urge to bow before the creature in front of him.  He tried mightily to hold it back, but some of his trepidation and worry seeped through the connection and Dean smiled benevolently at him.  He pushed all the pride and reassurance he wanted to show Sam through their end of the connection, until Sam’s shoulders lowered and he gave a small smile back, taking a step toward his brother and letting Dean unbutton his shirt with deft movements.  Trapped oh-so-willingly in the mossy amber of Dean’s eyes, Sam let his brother undress him completely.  When he was finally as nude as the First Knight, Sam took Dean’s right hand and placed it over his heart.

 

_You’re welcome, my son._

            A naked angel came up on Dean’s left and he placed his other hand on the smooth slope of Castiel’s neck.  The connection hummed fully to life, lighting up their minds in drifting clouds of Grace-blue-white, purple-red-silver, and green-gold.  Sam’s words from the other day fell from up above, “… _it’s big, like change-the-world big_ …”  Dean let his bemusement slide through the connection, along with a picture of their bed and with Castiel’s hand on Sam’s shoulder, they were there.  Dean touched the foot board and expanded the bed to a more reasonable size and reveled in Sam’s laughter at the sight.  Sam climbed up and lay on his back.  Dean crawled up his brother’s long legs as Cas retrieved the suddenly replenished bottle of lube.

 

_Has it never occurred to you?  Have you never mused on the fact that you’re living my life, in reverse?_

            It seemed like a minute and an age before Castiel had Dean more than open enough to slide down on Sam’s cock, Sam’s talented tongue keeping Dean occupied while Cas used his fingers and mouth to coax Dean’s body into compliance.  Dean knee-walked up until he was straddling Sam’s hips and let Castiel hold his brother’s dick up for him to impale himself on.  He didn’t even try to hold back the audible gasp that wanted to escape his lips, but he let Sam swallow the next sounds that burbled up from his chest, their mouths tingling in a slow, filthy tangle as Dean rolled his hips.  Sam’s dick throbbed inside him, filling him up so nicely, just like the first time, but it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t complete… _he_ wasn’t complete.  Dean looked over his shoulder at Castiel, kneeling behind him, his eyes glowing with a spark of Grace.  He sent his entreaty through the connection, his words stolen along with his breath as Sam thrust up into him.  Castiel smiled as he traced slick fingers around Dean’s rim before sliding a single digit in, alongside Sam’s cock.  Sam and Dean both groaned and let their heads fall back.

 

 _I’m saving you._ Saving me from what?  _From your Fate._

            Impossible pressure…impossible…so full…can’t breathe…so much…perfect…no words…shh…too much…can’t…you can…yes…no…stop, wait…yeah…brother…waited so long…love you…okay, now…I know…so much…can’t stop…don’t want you to…hurry…slow down…won’t last…love…like that…don’t let go…just…ah, yeah…my loves…please…I have to…stay…don’t go away…so close…with me…almost…no, not yet…together…please, love…together…so much when it’s like this…with you…together…can’t stop…together…now, please…let me…together…together…yes, yes, yes…together…Sammy…together…Castiel…together…Dean…together…

 

_That old feeling…makes me wonder how I ever had the strength to resist._

 

            Dean stayed where he had collapsed, off to the side of his brother, with their angel snuggled between them, his fingers still touching Sam’s bottom lip.  Dean had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood as his orgasm rolled through him.  He’d thrust his bleeding tongue into Sam’s open mouth, making his brother come explosively inside him.  Castiel had run his hand up from where it cupped Sam’s jaw and replaced Dean’s tongue with his fingers.  Sam bit down immediately and Castiel shuddered through his own orgasm as Sam suckled on the ragged bite.  Their connection exploded in white-hot light as the blood of the First Knight and the blood of a Fallen Angel mingled on the Boy King’s tongue and that was the last thing Dean knew for some time.

 

_The one thing I truly want._

            When Dean swam up from the depths of unconsciousness, he felt fundamentally the same.  Well, the same as he’d felt before Metatron plunged that Angel Blade through his heart.  No, before that even, before he’d taken on the Mark.  At the base, he was still… _Dean_ , eldest son of John and Mary, brother to Sam, protector of the innocent, punisher of the wicked.  That wasn’t all he was now, but it was where he started and where he ended.  He felt the tacky warmth of semen between his cheeks and smiled softly, one hand stroking through Sam’s hair, the other petting Castiel’s shoulder blade.  No, he was not exactly as he had been.  He was still a demon, but not like before he’d killed Cain, now he was the most powerful demon on the face of the Earth.  Unlike Cain, though, he had the balancing forces he needed to become something…more.  The man’s words tumbled through his head in the light of his new being, imbuing them with new meaning.  When he played the conversation backwards, it sounded like a warning, a warning not to fight what was coming, as if he even would.  Cain’s efforts to end his own blood line would never have accomplished his true goal.  There was no ending Murder.  It was too much a part of the human condition.  Cain hadn’t seen the only real solution wasn’t eradication, but oversight.  It had become so clear, what he was now, what they were together, and most importantly, what they must do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOO....what's going on?
> 
>  
> 
> Honestly, who the fuck knows anymore? I'm just as surprised as you guys are.
> 
> I'll probably start the next chapter as soon as I finish my essay, I'm really feeling it right now and things are rolling right along.


	11. I Feel Like I'm Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, Hi guys, long time, no read...
> 
> So, super sorry I've been gone so long, mostly because I've really missed writing and interacting with my fellow crazies.
> 
> Not gonna keep you long, just, not a super plot-heavy chapter, mostly just an observation without explanation and some borderline violent smut...  
> You know, the usual...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy...

 

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 11: I Feel Like I’m Drowning

**_““You keep dreamin’ / And dark schemin’ / Yeah, you do / You’re a poison and I know it’s the truth / All my friends think you’re vicious / And they say you’re suspicious / You keep dreamin’ / And dark schemin’ / Yeah, you do””_ **

-Two Feet, ‘I Feel Like I’m Drowning’

“Just leave him be, Cas,” Dean sighed, finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.  Castiel sighed and sat back on his heels. He’d been trying to wake a peacefully sleeping Sam for about twenty minutes.  His next step would have been slapping the man sharply, but Dean had stopped him. Counting the time they had all been sleeping together, Sam had been sleeping for roughly sixteen hours.  At the fourteen-hour mark, Cas and Dean had taken turns trying to wake him up with different tactics but identical results. Sam slept soundly on his back, his hands limp at his sides, his breathing deep and even, a slight smile on his face.  His eyes moved rapidly under his lids and Dean and Cas could feel a foggy kind of pulse, indistinct but pleasant, flowing through the connection they all shared. 

“Fine,” Castiel murmured and scooted off the bed.  Dean walked over to his side as he stared down in confusion at their sleeping lover.  Sam’s inexplicable slumber would have been cause for alarm, had the connection between the three of them not been so well-established, the feelings and thoughts each of them allowed into it coming through loud and clear. 

“He needs the down-time,” Dean murmured, his hand on the small of Cas’ back to turn him toward the door, leading him out of the room.

“I…what does that…mean, Dean?  Why…how do you-“ Castiel stammered, looking up at Dean’s passive face.  Despite the reassuring throb of Sam’s unconscious mind, Castiel expected Dean to suffer from his usual excess of worry.  This robotic acceptance was disturbing, to say the least. But Dean’s hand on his back was warm and firm, the look of fondness in Dean’s eyes when his gaze brushed across Cas’ face was all Cas had ever wanted.  He let his instinctual need to follow the person he loved most take over, quashing the nagging buzz of apprehension that arose when he glanced back at Sam’s prone form. Dean knew what was best, Dean would tell him when they should start to worry.

Led into the kitchen and pushed gently but firmly into a seat at the too-small table the Winchesters used nominally for family meals, Castiel watched Dean flit between the antique fridge and the big island then to the stove top as he threw together a serviceable meal of scrambled eggs and a potato hash chock full of veggies.  Castiel didn’t say a word as Dean placed a plate in front of him, opting to dig into the fluffy eggs and sweet-seared onion and pepper-dotted potatoes. Dean smiled shyly up at him when Castiel let out a pleased groan. It had been so long since food tasted like anything except its component molecules. Another benefit of the connection they’d developed, this new-old appreciation of food, even if he didn’t yet feel especially hungry for the fuel it provided.  Sharing a quiet meal with Dean, whom not so long ago he and Sam had thought to be beyond the human trappings of caring and love, was enough to stoke Castiel’s appetite.

Finished at nearly the same time, Castiel followed Dean to the sink and fell into the very domestic chore of cleaning the one pan and two plates they had used.  Dean handed the dish towel off to Castiel so the angel could dry his hands. When Castiel glanced back up, Dean was looking at him quizzically, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows out in full force.  Cas tipped his head and opened his mouth to ask what Dean was looking at when the demon reached out and softly brushed Castiel’s neck, below his right ear. Far from the gentle pull of skin-on-skin Castiel was expecting, a tingle of electricity shot through him where Dean’s calloused fingers made contact.  He instinctively flinched away from the touch, thinking for a split second that Dean’s demonic flesh was interacting badly with his own (again), but Dean intercepted him, his right hand coming up to hold Castiel in place. 

Castiel quelled the momentary panic that seized him, stilling in Dean’s hands and willing his muscles to remain pliant.  A big grin split Dean’s face before he went back to inspecting Cas’ neck. Dean let go of Castiel’s arm with a firm squeeze, “Come on, Angel, let’s go into the bathroom.”

In front of the mirror over the sink, Dean stood behind him and gently moved his head to the left, turning Cas a bit so his neck was displayed for viewing.  Castiel bit back a gasp when he saw what had caught Dean’s attention. About two inches above his collar, a smaller and fainter version of the Mark of Cain was showing just under the surface of his skin.  Castiel watched as his own slender fingers drifted up to brush across the keloid-looking brand. The jolt of electricity he had felt when Dean’s fingers completed the same tactile inspection did not recur but Castiel flinched just the same.  Mesmerized by the sight, Castiel didn’t register Dean’s movement until his fingertips were lightly skating across the Mark again, sending the not-unpleasant tingles through Castiel’s body again. Cas let his own hand drop as his eyes closed, giving up any further protest, effectively submitting.  Dean’s dark chuckle transmitted as a rumble through Castiel’s back as the Demon stepped up and molded his body to the Angel’s, back to front. 

Dean’s left hand came up to cup Castiel’s chin, keeping it tipped aside as he brought his plush lips over Castiel’s shoulder.  His wicked tongue darted out to lick lightly at the Mark and Castiel’s knees nearly buckled at the intense shock of pleasure that shot straight to his cock.  “Hmm, Angel, you like that, baby?” Dean ground out, his own dick a hard, hot line poking into the side of Castiel’s ass. Castiel whimpered his assent, his eyes cutting over to watch Dean’s half-lidded in their reflection.  Dean growled and whipped Castiel’s body around, pressing his back painfully into the sink. Castiel shivered, his neck bared to Dean’s mouth, knowing the Knight could sink his sharp teeth into the soft flesh of him. The Mark was right above a major artery, and he was making himself such an easy target, had Dean been harboring any ill will toward him.  Castiel floundered out into the connection, searching for any sign of malice but the only thing he found was the warm-red wash of desire thrumming through Dean, the sight of the angel so pliant and submissive strengthening his hunger with a pulse of lust that lit up the connection a lurid maroon, like dark blood. Castiel groaned as Dean pressed up against him, bending his body almost backwards but lining up their hard cocks, giving a crushing thrust at the same moment his lips closed over the Mark, his hot tongue laving the raised scar and Castiel trembled on the brink of an orgasm.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, meaning to warn against any further grinding, his cockhead already soaking through his thin pajama bottoms, but what came out of his mouth was more a whimpered plea and Dean clutched him tighter.  The Knight’s body was a red-hot band of steel and Castiel melted into it, his hands scrambling not to push Dean away, but grappling his bulging shoulders, down his ribs heaving like a bellows as his lips and tongue worked the Mark, and finally landing on his hips, pulling them into a filthy roll.  Castiel’s breath caught as heat pooled in his groin.

Dean’s lips came off his skin with an obscene pop and he trailed his mouth up Castiel chin, wetly lipping at his stubble, his breath cooling Castiel’s skin as he chuckled lowly, “You close, baby?  Yeah, you are. Gonna make you come like this, Angel. Gonna make you come in your pants like a kid. Feel that, baby? Feel how hard you get me? So easy for me, Angel…so wet and I haven’t even touched your dick…think you just need…just need a little push,”  Dean latched back onto the Mark, sucking hard then scraping teeth over it gently and light exploded behind Castiel’s eyes as he gasped and stuttered a garbled version of Deans name through his peak, shaking like a leaf in Dean’s arms.

Dean pushed himself off Castiel suddenly and the Angel shivered at the rush of cool air.  He opened his eyes blearily to see Dean’s chest heaving, his hands clenched in fists beside his hips.  “Dean?” Castiel slurred and pulled himself up the sink where he’d slumped, reaching a hand out to get Dean back to him.  Dean grunted and jerked back another step, his eyes locked on the white tiles of the floor. Castiel fished around in the connection frantically until he got an image of Dean bending him over the sink and plunging his hard cock painfully between the Angel’s cheeks, Castiel crying out in agony.  Castiel gasped at the power of the impulse Dean still possessed to hurt him, the shivery thrill of impending violence lighting up the connection a lime green slashed through with blood red. The Knight was quite capable of inflicting immense damage but the fact that he was holding himself off spoke of the changes their new bond had wrought.  His need raged through the connection, so strong Castiel was dizzy with it and he finally gave in to the urge to kneel. His knees hit the tile with a thud that finally brought Dean’s attention back to what was happening. His eyes were wide, so wide the white showed all the way around, swiveling from Castiel to the sink, back to Castiel, only to skip off again, like a spooked horse brought too close to the source of its ultimate fear.

Eddies of power surged through the connection as Dean took in the sight of an Angel of the Lord laid low, voluntarily prostrating himself before the vilest creature to ever crawl out of the depths of Hell.  Dean sucked in a breath through tight teeth, shuddering as Castiel began crawling on hands and knees across the cold subway tile. Castiel, for his part, pushed all his adoration, all his love and loyalty through the connection, scraping along the walls of that corridor in his mind, sludging together the darting streaks of bloody murder.  As each one was collected in turn, it’s light dimmed to bright pink, then soft lavender, before it, too, was absorbed. Castiel watched each one unspool inside his end of their connection as an individual memory of Dean’s, all of them involving Cas. The shock and world-shattering awe of their very first meeting in that barn, so many years ago, amid the sparks Cas’ Grace had provoked amongst the ancient light fixtures, despite all of Dean’s and Bobby’s careful preparations; Castiel pounding Dean’s stubborn human ego into the dust in an alley where Dean had decided to say ‘yes’ to Michael; Castiel standing up to his brothers, solidly on the side of the Team Free Will, only to be annihilated for it; Cas’ face, robotic and still as he explained that he had been unable (unwilling? Dean still had his doubts) to rescue Sam’s soul from the Cage as well as his body; Castiel crouched by the water’s edge in Purgatory, dirty and scraped raw but still beautiful; the look of resignation on Cas’ face when Dean had to tell him to go for fear of the former angel somehow discovering Ezekiel hiding inside Sam; every moment a sharp slap to Castiel.  The hits just kept on coming, every single time Castiel had hurt Sam, disappointed Dean, vanished from their lives, or made horrible decisions in the name of protecting them, played out through the connection.

 

But as devastating as it was to watch his numerous, epic failures through Dean’s eyes, the thrum of the Winchesters’ never-ending love for a good-for-nothing angel seemed to only grow stronger with every scene, love all tangled up with hate until the demonic influence of the Mark twisted everything into a Gordian Knot of desire.  Castiel turned shiny-wet eyes up to Dean and sent all that rage, all that wrathful lust, all those painful memories edged with love, soaring back through the connection in a rush. Dean rocked back on his heels and gulped air in huge, ragged gasps, his face upturned even as his hands grappled for purchase on the tiled walls. Before Castiel can even begin to stand, with the intention of grabbing ahold of Dean before he could crumble to the hard floor headfirst, strong hands grasped him under the armpits and hauled him up to standing.  In a blink, he was facing Dean, his eyes no longer the placid cool of an algae-soaked pond, but practically glowing the patinaed gold of the First Knight of Hell.

 

Castiel gaped at the sneer on Dean’s beautiful face, astonished that even as a terrifyingly vengeful demon, Dean still managed to be the most exquisite person Cas had ever set eyes on.  An insane desire to take Dean like this, to turn the far-stronger man around and slam him face-first into the wall, spread his legs and pound into him until he came screaming Cas’ name lit him up from the inside.  Dean’s chuckle had the deep bass only heard in the bowels of Hell, his breath wafting a tinge of sulfur in Castiel’s face. 

 

“Do it, Angel,” Dean purred, running his hands over his ribs to settle on his waistband.  The First Knight leered down at him, a challenge skipping through their connection, oddly playful despite the heavy atmosphere of the bathroom, “If you think you can,” Dean winked, his face softening somewhat at the astonishment on Castiel’s. 

 

Before Dean could take another breath, though, Castiel wass up and twisting his arm behind his back, shoving the Demon into the tiled wall so hard, Dean felt his teeth rattle in his mouth.  The Knight got out nothing more than a grunt of protest before Castiel’s heat was covering him from knees to shoulders. “This what you wanted, Dean?” Cas hissed in his ear, even though he could damn well feel Dean’s approval coming through the connection in abundance.

 

Dean raised his head the barest inch from the hard wall to spit, “You don’t have the Grace-” and Castiel slammed his head back down, licking a stripe up the Demon’s neck, flicking his tongue over the lobe of his ear, “-to keep me down, Angel,” Dean finished, his mouth smooshed against the wall but the smile evident in his voice.

 

“Hmmm…” Castiel hummed, pulling back to look down the trembling line of Dean’s body.  Cas snapped his fingers and Dean’s skin met the cool tile wall as he gasped in surprise, “Think I’ll give it a try, anyway.”  And before Dean could come up with any more smartass remarks, Castiel was pressing two lube-slick fingers to his hole, jabbing inside the Demon’s body with more finesse than he should rightfully possess.  

 

“You say the word, Hellspawn, and I’ll release you,” Castiel grumbled as he prodded and scissored his fingers, sending pleasure zinging throughout Dean’s body, only half of which was anticipation.

 

  “Never!” The Knight rasped and tilted his hips up and back as best he could, drawing the Angel’s fingers further into his body.  Dean grinned at Cas’ sharp inhale of shock. His smirk fell when the Angel ripped his hand away, leaving the Knight empty. Thankfully, Dean didn’t have to wait long before the fat, blunt end of the Angel’s cock was nudging at his entrance.

 

“You asked for it, Demon, so you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Castiel crooned before shoving roughly inside, drawing a groan from both of them.  The Angel stilled when his hips pushed into the swell of the Demon’s ass. Castiel rested his forehead between Dean’s twitching shoulder blades. “All I ever wanted was to make you happy, keep you safe, see that you got the good things you deserved for all the sacrifices you made…” Castiel murmured against his skin.  Dean closed his eyes against the tide of regret that threatened to flood through the connection. “And this is our fate, not the fire of the Apocalypse, not the bitter dark of the Empty, but having to watch you two become something you fought your whole lives against-”

 

“ _ Cas _ ,” Dean ground out, his head still plastered to the tile wall, “ _ please _ …” And Castiel could hear the tears threatening without even having to check the connection so he did the only thing he could to give Dean what he wanted, what he thought he deserved, and pulled his cock out until the tip started to slip out of his stretched rim, before plunging back in hard, pushing Dean into the wall again with a pained grunt.  He let the anguish he’d felt building over the last few days at seeing the Winchester brothers so transformed eke out into the connection, along with his stalwart feelings of devotion to the pair, trying to tell Dean that he’d be by their side no matter what, through every step of whatever was happening to them, even if he knew they really deserved peace and quiet rather than more confusion and angst.  Dean sobbed into the wall, reaching back with a suddenly-free hand to grip Castiel’s hip and pushed his ass back on every in-stroke, the only answer he could give Castiel the increasingly loud slap of skin on skin.

 

Castiel adhered his body to Dean’s back, suddenly needing to touch everywhere, become one with him in as many ways as possible.  The Angel breathed hotly into the Knight’s ear as his rhythm got sloppier and he let the filth that threatened to spill from his lips have free reign.  The Knight sagged minutely in acceptance, much easier with the smut and violence than the endearments and devotions, the tiniest bit of gratitude drifting back to Castiel through the connection.

 

After a minute and an age, Castiel felt his orgasm tingling its way up his spine and reached around Dean’s hip to grip his bobbing cock, stripping it out of rhythm with his increasingly-erratic thrusts as he growled in Dean’s ear.  Dean’s body suddenly tensed and he spilled over Castiel’s fist, striping the wall and sending Castiel tumbling over the edge. 

 

Panting as he rode out the fluttering aftershocks of both their orgasms, Castiel wrapped both arms around and under Dean’s shoulders, tucking his face into the junction between neck and shoulder.  Dean stilled immediately and tensed under him again. 

 

Dean tried to push back, shake Castiel off.  When the Angel refused to budge, the Knight growled lowly and tried again, not holding back.  Castiel sensed the feeling of suffocation, tasted the animalistic need to get out, get away, through the connection.  It seemed Dean’s need for self-denial, for self-flagellation, had survived his death and demonization, after all. Castiel couldn’t have that, wouldn’t let him do it, not this time.  Castiel funneled his still-growing but already very powerful Grace into maintaining his hold on the Demon. Dean bucked and thrashed within his limited scope of movement for a short time before huffing loudly and seeming to wilt into Castiel’s embrace.  Castiel wasn’t prepared for an easy capitulation so he didn’t ease up, simply snugged his arms more firmly around the older Winchester brother and lifted his head to speak softly into the Demon’s ear.

 

“I’m going to let you go now but-”

 

“Don’t,” Dean muttered, turning his face away, “Don’t...just...don’t let go.”

 

Castiel’s mouth snapped shut and he stared at the back of Dean’s head until he finally laid his head back down to Dean’s shoulder with a murmured, “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am definitely working on the next chapter, pinky-swear.
> 
> I was going over my outline for this fic last week and I realized I hadn't fleshed it out enough to pick up my original feel for this story months after I set it aside, so, what I'm saying is I've kind of lost my original thought process for Heart. I have some vague ideas about where I was trying to go with this but it is definitely not going to end up looking however I initially imagined it would. I hope you guys like it, anyway.


	12. The Day I Tried to Live (Soundgarden)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel looks to an old friend for answers, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the Bunker, with not much to do but each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late and I have a headache, so I'm sorry for any mistakes...

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 12: The Day I Tried to Live

 

**_“Except a voice was in my head / It said, ‘seize the day’ / ‘Pull the trigger, drop the blade’ / ‘And watch the rolling heads”_ **

-Soundgarden, ‘The Day I Tried to Live’

 

One thing that hadn’t changed, one thing that Sam truly wished  _ had _ changed, was his brother’s propensity for annoying Sam when he was bored.  How the man could not relish a little boredom, after the wild and, frankly, nigh-unbelievable life they had led, was beyond Sam.  It was like Dean had Adult ADHD and had to be moving, talking, working, eating and talking, fucking and talking, working and talking, every second he was awake.  Sam had tried every method of distracting a bored Dean so he could enjoy a little silence, but if Sam was in Dean’s general vicinity when the older brother was without constant outside or self-generated stimulation, he was determined to force Sam to provide such.  No amount of cajoling or threatening had ever so much as made a dent in Dean’s quest for Sam-inspired entertainment. If left too long, Dean was sure to turn to his tried-and-true failsafe: a prank war. So, Sam had learned, after fruitless years fighting the inevitable, to nip Dean’s boredom in the bud.  For most of their lives, his only viable options had been forced participation in research, mention of a particularly strange possible hunt, or dropping whatever he was trying to do and accompanying Dean to some local dive bar to troll for easy targets. But now? Oh, now he had the ultimate alternative to growing increasingly irritated with Dean’s restless leg-tapping, finger-snapping, off-key-humming boredom jitters.

 

“Dean.”  Sam didn’t even look up from his laptop as he called his brother to attention.

 

“Hm?”  Dean perked up immediately, yanking his hand back from where he’d been picking at the edge of the Library table while he hummed as many Zepp songs as he could without pausing, a feat that was harder than it sounded.  He’d wondered into the Library after taking a scalding (and ridiculously lonely) shower. 

 

Sam sighed evenly and looked at Dean with thinly-disguised affection.  As ungodly vexatious as Dean’s habit of bothering him whenever this mood struck him was, it served an important function within the confines of their relationship/partnership/family dynamic.  Left to his own devices, Sam would, and had, sail through entire days, sometimes a week or more, without eating a proper meal, without bathing or changing his clothes, without seeing the sun save for the thin strips that wrestled their way through stiff motel curtains.  The few times Sam had been on his own a a grown-ass man, without Dean to Mother Hen him into taking a break every few hours to perform the basic rituals of functioning human beings, Sam Winchester had been prone to reverting to near-caveman levels of self care. Sure, Jess and every woman he had attempted to maintain a relationship with had been fairly adept at eventually wheedling him away from the task at hand long enough to get a sandwich in him, or push him into a bathroom to perform a quick pits-tits-and-ass whore’s bath in the sink, but none of them had ever been able to penetrate his force field of concentration deeply enough to make him break away from his own overheating brain.  Only Dean had ever been able to push Sam completely out of his own head, to the point where Sam worried when his brother let him go more than three hours researching without doing something to pull Sam back into his body and force him to take care of it. Sometimes, Sam was thoroughly convinced that, without Dean around to annoy him sporadically, he would have let himself die of dehydration years ago.

 

Sam looked back down at his laptop, bookmarking the site run by what appeared to be a genuine pagan priestess living in Utah who he had been garnering actual, useful information about ancient curses from, “So, get this,” Sam glanced back up at Dean.  His older brother raised his eyebrows and chin in a go-ahead-I’m-listening gesture. “I really want to see how much of my dick you can swallow before you have to come up for air.” Dean choked on nothing, the front two legs of the chair he’d been casually rocking back on slamming down to the Library floor hard enough to make Sam fear for their continued integrity, and started stammering and sputtering as he grabbed at the edge of the table they were sitting at to save himself from face planting into said table when he was flung forward with the force of his abrupt landing.

 

“Wha-at?  W-wait, um, I mean...what?!” Dean yelped, eyes wide, giving a comical little shake of his head.  Sam grinned hugely before he could school his features and shut his laptop gently. He pushed back from the table and stood up to his full height gracefully, despite the hours not moving farther than reaching across to the table on his right to grab one of the books he and Cas had filtered out as possibly containing some useable intel on what was happening to the three of them.  

 

Before his brother’s death and rebirth, Sam had felt the constant need to fold in on himself in minute ways, always trying to be less intimidating while interviewing witnesses, be a smaller target for the myriad creatures they always seemed to end up fighting hand-to-hand, take up less space in the car or whatever cheap motel the brothers found themselves in.  Since waking up from what turned out to be a 24-hour sleep-a-thon after Dean killed Cain, Sam hadn’t felt the need to be a smaller presence than his body could manage. He almost always stood straight, walked with a newfound confidence in his long stride, and began to use his height and weight advantage to their full potential. They hadn’t taken any cases that would take any of them away from each other or the Bunker overnight, which meant they hadn’t worked any case but their own since Cain, but Sam was actually looking forward to the next time some random monster tried to push him around.

 

Sam all but stalked around the table to stand next to the chair Dean had recently been putting through its paces.  He bent over and gripped the armrests, turning the chair containing his brother easily around until he was eye-level with Dean’s (now arousal-blown, pupils), “I said, I want to shove my cock between these pretty lips,” Sam thumbed Dean’s bottom lip down until his brother flashed his pink tongue out to swipe across the digit, “and as far down your tight, hot throat as physically possible.”  Sam pushed his thumb past Dean’s white-white teeth to capture that wriggling little tongue, “And furthermore, I think I’d like to bend you over this table and fuck your brains out.” Sam smiled wolfishly when Dean’s eyes flashed green-gold and fluttered closed as he moaned around his younger brother’s thumb.

 

Sam yanked his thumb out of Dean’s wet mouth and stood abruptly, eliciting an indignant whine from the Knight.  Dean glared up at Sam, who just smirked down at a creature 99% of the population would be pants-pissingly terrified of, the remaining 1% being too dumb to know how scared they should be.  “Unless you can be a very good boy for me, in which case I’ll put you on your back so you can fuck my fist while I pound you through the table,” he purred as he reached out to stroke the bolt of Dean’s jaw.  Dean’s face softened at the touch and he quirked a little smile of his own. Sam tightened his hold on his brother’s face, fingertips digging into soft flesh just hard enough to blanch, bringing Dean back to attention, “Good boys get right to work, big brother,” he growled.

  
  
  


It had been long and long since Castiel had experienced the give of soft soil under his shoes.  Years since he had heard the indignant squawks of squabbling birds in the canopy high above his head.  Although it felt like an eon since he had luxuriated in the breeze as it cooled the tiny droplets of sweat forming on his temple as he walked through the Garden, Paradise hadn’t changed one iota.  Of course, there was the timescale to consider, but his time among the humans had skewed his sense of the passage of time. He was so different from the last time he had sought the council of the Angel Joshua, it seemed surreal that the Garden remained so fixed.  Created exclusively for a species which had almost immediately thrown it all away, his Father’s Utopia sat eternally empty, a lonely wonderland of never-ending enchantment. Castiel spotted his goal as he crested a hill covered in weeping willows.

 

Joshua was sat under the largest tree in this valley, the willow impossibly green and lush as its branches swayed dreamily in the near constant breeze.  Castiel picked his way carefully down the steeper side of the hill until he remembered where he was and adjusted his gait, walking like he was strolling across a plain.  He made it to the bottom quickly and without incident. Nothing bad ever happens in Paradise, after all. Joshua stood up as Castiel finally approached him, gentle smile creasing the skin around his eyes.  It did something unexpectedly warm to the ancient being to see the Angel of Thursday looking so...well, so  _ well _ .

 

“Joshua,” Castiel greeted softly.  Despite the pleasant smile on his old friend’s face, Castiel was unaccountably afraid of being judged harshly by one of the few people left in the world whom the Seraph wished to retain a good opinion of him.

 

Joshua stepped forward, placing a weathered old hand on Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, “Castiel, my friend.  It is so good to see you again after all this time.” Neither angel felt the need to engage in the social customs of humans, such as inquiring after one another’s families or any other such ‘catching up’.  With Joshua’s position in the Garden also came the ability to watch any and all happenings on Earth, so he was all too aware of exactly what Cas had been ‘getting up to’. Joshua’s instant and genuine happiness upon first spotting him topping the hill was more of a balm to Castiel’s troubled mind than he had anticipated.  The simple idea that this person was still his friend and still happy to see him, even knowing what Cas and the Winchesters had been up to...well, it was not what Castiel had been expecting, that was for sure.

 

“You are here for what, Castiel?  Information? Advice? Absolution?” Joshua’s tone was not one of recrimination, which, again, surprised Castiel.  Castiel sat gratefully in the soft grass under the weeping willow.

 

“All of those? Any of it?” Castiel pulled a few blades of sturdy grass out of the ground and ran them through his fingers over and over, nervously.

 

“Castiel,” Joshua shook his head and smiled, his voice full of fond exasperation, “Our Father is long gone, brother.  We are, all of us, on our own. You know this. No one can judge you. As long as you are acting on your truth, cast by His light, you know you can do no wrong.”

 

Castiel sighed and squinted up into the sun shining hazily behind Joshua’s head, forming the halo none of them could lay claim to since their Father had abandoned them the first time, “How about the information, then?  Do you know what’s been happening to me? To the Vessels?” Few, if any, of the angels left in Heaven would recognize the Winchester name but they all knew who the Vessels were, even this long after their aborted Apocalypse.  “I wouldn’t say no to any advice you feel warranted to give me, either, brother.”

 

Joshua laughed lightly and folded his long legs under him, sitting on the loamy ground facing Castiel.  He held out his hand and Castiel readily placed his on top, lacing their fingers together. “I understand that angels of your generation believe they have seen all there is to see, that you know all of what has transpired in Heaven and on Earth these long millennium, but let me assure you, little one, there are always things you do not know.”  From anyone else, the diminutive would have had Castiel’s hackles up, but compared to Joshua, Castiel had always felt like a young child but never in a bad way, so he simply smiled warmly and willed Joshua to continue.

 

“You know of the system which determines where souls end up, at the end of their time on the physical plane, but you do not know that that system was not our Father’s first choice.  When it came time to implement his original plan, he was advised by Michael, Raphael, and several of their ovre that the humans could not be trusted to develop the kind of intuition, the ability to compromise and work with their natural enemies, nor the capacity to love that would be required to become His justice on Earth.”

 

Castiel’s face showed his confusion and Joshua sighed, “I see I am not explaining things very well...Okay, Castiel, forget the history lesson.  Let us deal with the here and now...Father has left, again, but He has decided to go with his original design for sorting the wicked from the faithful.  Apparently, He has chosen the Vessels, and their angel, to fill this role.”

 

“I...I do not...what roles?  What do I...what are we supposed to do?  What does He want of us now?” Castiel stammered, trying to pull his hand out of Joshua’s, but the elder angel gripped him tight.

 

“Do not be a fool, Castiel!  While your love for the Winchesters tells you they, and you, deserve a break, a retirement from the supernatural stage, you know you three are the only beings in the world capable of performing this most solemn task!  Do not let your immaturity, you impetuousness, your greed, lead you from His path again, not this time! This is not the time to fight against His will! If you do, if you insist on following the Winchester way of pushing back against destiny, you will surely cause the downfall of His most treasured creation, Man!”  

 

Castiel ceased struggling to extricate himself from Joshua’s hand, just in time for his brother to drop his hand and stand, once again blocking the sun, “What does that mean?  Wh-what are w-we?”

 

“You are become Mishpat’am Ha’aretz,” the ground trembled on Joshua’s voice and all became clear in Castiel’s mind.

  
  
  


Sam had thought Dean’d want to get fucked, the way he had just bent to Sam’s touch, easy in it, happy to fold into whatever shape his little brother wanted him.  But Sam had other plans. Watching Dean’s luscious, too-plump-for-a-man lips stretch around his swollen dick, feeling Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbing compulsively with his fingertips, hearing Dean’s choked off moan as his throat closed over the tip of Sam’s dick, Sam came up with a different plan.  Ushering his big brother down the hall, to what had become  _ their _ room, hadn’t been as easy as getting Dean’s mouth where Sam had always wanted it, but he’d managed.  Dean had broken their kiss to strip out of his sweats and t shirt and jump on the bed, ass in the air and face resting on his forearms.  Sam had tsked and shook his head in bemusement at the pouty face Dean gave him he pushed his brother over and laid on his back in Dean’s place.

 

“Want you to fuck me, big brother, wanna feel it for a week,” he’d told Dean, who sat on his heels and stared as Sam pulled his knees up and out, exposing his hole.  Dean’s eyes flashed gold-green as he swiveled them over to glance at the table and the lube sitting on it, like a more colorful version of a shifter’s eye shine

 

Dean nodded, almost to himself, and slapped at Sam’s hand to get him let go of his legs, “Turn over,” he commanded flatly.  Sam opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut with one look at his brother’s hard face. Sam shrugged and rolled over as Dean reached over him for the lube.  He figured if Dean was pissed about Sam’s decision to bottom, maybe Sam’d get it as hard as he was craving, something to knock the cobwebs out of his mind after spending the day bent over book after dusty book, on a fruitless search for any hint of what was happening to him.  He didn’t even pay attention to what Dean was letting leak through the connection until it was too late.

  
  
  


“The People’s...Justice?” Castiel translated cautiously, head tilted to the side.

 

“Just that, yes.  As you know, when there is some dispute about where a soul is destined to spend eternity, that soul is shuffled off into the Veil until a decision can be made.  Now, since Father was gone for so long, the Veil has been filling up with these indeterminate souls, benefiting neither Heaven nor Hell nor the souls themselves.  Murderers who committed one act of redemption, saints who had the gall to act selfishly once in awhile, all await judgement, to either their eternal reward or damnation.  Father wishes for this imbalance to finally see correction, as well as any new cases which may crop up. There is also the matter of creating a forum on Earth, a force which can rule the supernatural elements on that plane, as the angels rule here and the King rules in Hell.  Father needs someone to look after his flock in his newest absence, Castiel. You three are that force. You, a celestial being; the elder Winchester, the highest order of Demon; and the younger Winchester, a fully-human King in his own right; you are unstoppable when together.  And have you ever been more  _ together _ than you are right now,” Joshua said this last with a knowing grin, one which caused a flush to creep up Castiel’s neck.  

 

“Now, now, brother, no need for that,” Joshua tutted as he pulled Castiel to his feet and wrapped an arm around the younger angel’s shoulder, “Do you think Heaven would have allowed such interactions to continue had they not been specifically sanctioned by our Father?  Carnality is the only language common to all of mankind, it binds them like nothing else. Sex and blood magic combined, it is the strongest link Father can forge. And you will need this connection, if you three are to fulfill your role of Judge and Jury for the Earthly plane.  Now,” Joshua patted him on the back and pushed him gently, out from underneath the shifting willow bowers, “go to them and tell them what you have learned. You have much work to do, my brother.” Castiel stumbled out into the sunshine, blinking in the sudden brightness. Instead of the sharp incline of the hill he was expecting to see when his eyes adjusted, there stood the Bunker door.  Castiel turned to handle and ducked inside.

  
  
  


Opened up quickly but not unkindly, Sam gasped as Dean pulled his fingers out with an obscene squelch.  He started to turn his head to ask Dean how he wanted him when Dean’s hand came down and pushed his head back into the pillow just before his warm body covered Sam’s like a blanket.  Sam groaned and tried to arch up into Dean’s body when he felt the thick head of his brother’s cock breach him, but Dean wasn’t having it. Arms under Sam’s shoulders and crossed behind his neck, Dean held Sam down as he slowly fucked in and out of him.  It was not the sort of torture Sam had thought he’d be getting, but it was indeed,  _ torturous _ .  He couldn’t even plead with Dean to go faster, harder, to just  _ fuck _ him, already, with his face pushed into the pillow.  He had hoped his pathetic whimpering and the limited squirming he was capable of would have conveyed his unhappiness.  He finally thought to tell Dean through the connection and opened his mind to it. He was nearly crushed under the weight of love that surged through Dean’s end, burying him in an avalanche of care as soon as he turned his mental eye to it.

 

Dean turned his head and laid it on top Sam’s sweaty hair, “God, Sammy...so sweet for me, so perfect…” he groaned as he continued his slow slide in and out.  His knees rested on the backs of Sam’s, so there was really no way for him to leverage this into more than a gentle pace and Sam keened under him. Dean’s lips curled up in an evil smirk as he snaked one arm out of the hold he had on Sam’s head to trail down his little brother’s side.  “So soft like this, can do whatever I want to you, huh? Take this so nice and slow, worship you like I always wanted, little brother...Boy, you sure grew up nice, huh, Sammy? Skin so firm but soft, hmmm, like to sink my teeth in,” and he did just that, mouth tight around the muscle joining Sam’s neck to his shoulders, teeth digging divets into the salty flesh there, the muscle a cord caught between them.  And Sam shivered, a full-body tremble that made Dean growl around his mouthful before releasing it. Suddenly, Sam’s impatience, his  _ need _ flooded through the connection, pushing back the affection Dean had tried to fill it with and Dean couldn’t hold back any longer.

 

Slipping off Sam’s legs, Dean planted his knees into the memory foam and squeezed his little brother’s legs tight together.  Sam grunted as Dean levered up onto one elbow and plowed into him, cramming his cock inside Sam over and over and over, nailing his prostate relentlessly until Sam teetered on the edge.  He just needed one little thing something, anything to push him over into bliss. He begged his big brother as sweetly as he could through the connection.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Sammy...Yeah, baby boy, yeah….fuck yes...you gonna come on big brother’s cock, hm?  Wanna feel you get tight, wanna feel you lose it for me...Come _on_!”  Dean grabbed Sam’s big shoulders and came up on his toes, fucking as hard as he could, which, with his new strength, would have been enough to make an ordinary man scream in agony.  But not Sam, not Dean’s little Sammy. Sam lifted his head just enough to suck in a big breath and howl out his pleasure as his orgasm ripped into him with razor claws. “Oh...oh fuck _yesssss_ _Sammy_ ,” Dean hissed as his own end sucked him under and he filled his brother’s ass until it creamed out with his continued, jerky thrusts.  

 

Dean collapsed on top of Sam, his hands roaming sloppily all over his brother’s sweaty skin.  The last thing he remembered was turning Sam’s face with shaky hands for a quick kiss, before sleep took him down into its inky depths.  The last thing Sam knew was letting his head flop back down to the pillow and realizing Dean was still inside him, before he, too, slipped off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aramaic is not my first language, obviously...


	13. Cumbersome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under pressure to find answers, Sam makes a(nother) bad decision and Dean rides to Charlie's rescue  
> Castiel really hates Rowena...just sayin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so...no smut in this chapter, sorry. We're getting toward then end so this one is pretty plot-heavy, very angsty...lot of Dean being Dean, Sam being Sam, and Castiel being...smitey, but anywho...  
> I did warn you guys this would be a lot darker than my usual story...  
> Yes, Charlie is alive and she's gonna stay that way, dammit! She's one of my favorite characters and I literally bawled for an hour when they killed her off. I love Felicia Day! She was great on the show and Eureka.

**If I Had a Heart**

Chapter 13: Cumbersome

 

**_“I’d like to believe this nervousness will pass / All the stones that are thrown are building up a wall / I have become / Cumbersome / To this world”_ **

-Seven Mary Three, ‘Cumbersome’

 

“All I’m saying is...we can’t keep holing up here, waiting for an answer to just, fall in our laps, Dean!”  Sam shouted as he came up out of his chair.

 

Dean seethed at the implication that he, and even Castiel, hadn’t been doing their part to find out what had happened to them, what was still happening to them, “Hole up? Are you fucking kidding me, Sam?! You’re the only one playing scared little victim here! Cas and I have both been doing everything we can to find out some answers!  Meanwhile, what’s precious little Samantha doing? Huh? Hiding in the Bunker with her nose in a book!”

 

Dean was getting dangerously close to full on rage and while the connection would ordinarily temper the Mark’s influence, the spreading of the Mark of Cain to all three was, at least in this instance, having the opposite effect.  Dean’s anger and frustration was pouring through the connection, ramping up Sam’s and Castiel’s own feelings of inadequacy. Castiel fought to get his head above the turbulent waters quickly forming a vortex in the connection that threatened to pull them all under.  He stepped between the brothers, one hand on Dean’s chest and one on Sam’s, physically holding them back as their fraught words drew them towards each other like colliding planets, “ **_Stop._ ** ” The command reverberated through the connection as well as being as close to Castiel’s True Voice as he felt comfortable using on the Winchesters.  It was a risk, but it paid off. Sam visibly deflated and took a full step back while Dean pulled back the rage he’d been pumping into the connection and looked away from his brother.  Dean’s eyes had been glowing their green-gold, Sam’s a purple-silver, but Castiel’s flashing Grace blue-white smothered both flames instantaneously and he felt the connection come down to a rolling simmer.

 

Castiel opened his mouth just as Dean’s phone rang out “Bad Mama Jama”, “It’s Charlie,” he bit out quickly as he answered it, turning his back on his brother and Castiel and striding out of the War room.

 

Castiel went to sit in a chair opposite the one Sam had recently vacated when Sam’s voice, sounding smaller and more unsure of himself than Castiel had heard since they had first tried to cure Dean, “Do you think I’m useless?  Do you...do you think I’m not trying?”

 

“What? No, Sam, I don’t think-”

 

Sam cut him off with a raised hand, nodding his head sadly and glaring at the Map table, “Yeah, Cas, that’s exactly what he meant,” Sam let both hands fall to his lap where he looked at them in silence for a beat.  “I’ve been doing what I can, I’ve hardly slept, I...I don’t know what else I can do,” Sam’s voice broke on the last, the implied ‘I don’t know what he wants me to do’ remaining unspoken, but Castiel could feel it through the connection, how  _ broken _ Sam felt every time he thought he’d let Dean down.  Castiel didn’t even bother to refute the claim, they could both feel Dean’s disappointment edging through the connection every time they hit a wall in their search for a solid answer.

 

When Castiel had returned from his latest visit to Heaven, with Joshua’s words ringing in his head, and tried to explain what he’d felt and learned in the Garden, even with the assistance of their connection, he’d failed miserably.  At the mention of God’s will, His plan, or Destiny-with-a-capital-D, Dean had shut down further and further. Sam, too, though he, at least tried to hear Castiel out. He pointed out to Dean that the Mishpat’am Ha’aretz explained a lot of what had been happening to them, which only served to anger his brother even more.  The very idea that they were, once again, being treated like pawns in some preordained plan constructed by God was too much for Dean to believe. He simply refused to accept Heaven’s explanation, refused to believe this was anything but his own fault. Castiel could readily believe that his Father, the original architect of the Apocalypse, would require this of the Winchesters.

 

Dean’s heavy boots could be heard as he tramped back into the War room.  His duffel over his shoulder, he made for the garage, “I have to go pick up Charlie, she’s been shot,” he threw back at Castiel.

 

“Wait, Dean!” Sam was up and after his brother before Castiel even registered his intent to move, “What’s going on with Charlie? Why didn’t she call me if-”

 

Dean rounded on Sam snake-quick, his duffel dropped to the floor even as he grabbed Sam and slammed him on top of the Map table, “If  **what** , Sam? Huh? If maybe she ran into a spot of trouble chasing down the fucking  **_Book of the Damned?!_ ** ”  Sam’s face started to crumble before it shored up, his chin lifting in defiance, body lax and accepting of whatever punishment Dean felt he deserved.  All these emotions Castiel read clear as day in the brothers’ faces and body language. He didn’t need the connection to see this fight correctly. He sidled up behind Dean, ready to pull him off Sam, if need be.

 

“Yeah, Dean, that’s exactly why she should have called me! I’m the one who sent her after it, I should be the one to take the risk to go bring her home!”

 

Dean looked disgusted and shoved Sam once more before releasing him and turning away, coming face to face with Castiel, “Did you know about this?” he growled at the angel.

 

Castiel let the confirmation sift through his and Sam’s concern for Dean, their fear of what the Mark was doing to him and now, them, and his belief that Sam and Charlie were only using the Book as a last-ditch effort to rid the world of the Mark once and for all, and sent his complicated answer through his end of the connection.  Dean pushed Castiel away lightly and stomped over to his dropped duffel.

 

He turned around before he could get much past the threshold and leveled his brother and their angel with a dark look, “Neither of you had any right, no right at all, to put yourselves or Charlie at risk!  Not for me, for fuck’s sake! You two...when will you ever fucking learn…” A single tear made its way down Dean’s cheek before he could refocus on the floor.

 

Sam had stood up and walked up level with Castiel, his hand drifting up to Cas’ elbow, “What, Dean?  What are we supposed to learn?” he asked firmly, a challenge still loud and clear in his posture and voice.

 

“ **_I’m not worth it_ ** !” Dean roared at them, “I’m not worth any of it,” he finished flatly, dejectedly, and turned to walk quickly out to the garage.

 

Sam and Castiel just looked at each other in astonishment.  Dean had slammed his end of the connection shut as easily as he would a door, something neither of them even knew was possible.  They could both feel his end was there, he was alive, in his own way, but neither of them could get even an inkling of his mental state.  Both pushed their confusion through the connection to each other, as easy as breathing, and both shared the same thought, ‘How could Dean think that way, after everything they’d shared?’

  
  
  


Dean let Baby have her head as he blasted out of the garage, his heightened senses telling him there wasn’t another soul inhabiting the lonely Kansas backroads at this time of night.  Charlie was a good four hour drive away, even if he pushed it, and he needed to be there  _ now _ .

 

Why Sam would even consider...no, check that, this was perfectly within their shared disfunction, this endless cycle of sacrifice and the willingness to do absolutely  _ anything  _ to save each other, but Charlie!  To put Charlie at risk...unthinkable!  Now, she was on the run from some psychotic family who wanted the Book of the Damned for God only knew what, and her head on a pike for daring to snatch it in the first place.  All because she and Sam thought there  _ might _ be something in that thing that could get the Mark off Dean’s arm?  And when was Sam gonna tell him about this little misadventure? When had he and Charlie even had the time to cook up this little caper?   It was this kind of unilateral decision-making that their newfangled ‘connection’ was supposed to put an end to! What the fuck was even going on in Sam’s head? 

 

A little over three hours later, Baby was blowing into the patch of dirt in front of Bobby’s old cabin, kicking up a cloud of gravel and dust.  Dean was out of his seat and into the cabin before the dust even settled, rushing over to Charlie where she lay prone on the mildewy old couch, “Charlie!” he gasped out his relief when she raised her head at the commotion of him busting in the front door.  But as he dove around the end of the couch and knelt down to look at her wound, her face broke apart in horror and shock.

 

“Holy sh-shit!  **_Cristo!_ ** ” she shrieked as she pushed back further into the couch, the arm not clenched to her side scrabbling at the jacket pocket on her injured side.

 

Dean jerked his hands back, eyebrows drawn in confusion, “Charlie, wha-” was all he got out before she’d yanked a silver flask from her pocket, spun off the cap and splashed a liberal amount right into his eyes with shaking hands.  Although the holy water did sting a bit, it took her starting the exorcism rite to understand what had her so freaked out. “Wait, Charlie, it’s me!” Dean made a concerted effort to reign in his black eyes, no mean feat considering the load of adrenaline recently dumped into his veins, the fight with Sam and Cas and his subsequent refusal to acknowledge the connection, not to mention his instinctual reaction to the words Charlie was screaming at him in a quivering voice.  “Charlie,  **stop** !”  Dean commanded with as much of his First Knight compulsion as he dared without liquifying his friend’s brain in the process.

 

Charlie’s mouth shut with a snap and she went limp across the couch.  His compulsion did nothing to quench the fire of utter hatred he saw in her eyes, though.  “You piece of shit son of a bitch hellspawn fucker! I will fucking  **_end_ ** you for this, I swear to God, I’ll make Hell look like a Disneyland vacation for what you’ve done to Dean, I’ll-”

 

Dean cut her off with a wave of his hand and her mouth snapped shut again.  He stood up and ran a hand through his hair with a long suffering sigh. Of course, Sam hadn’t told her he was a demon!  “Look, Charlie, it’s me, I’m Dean...I’m not some random demon running around in a meatsuit, okay? It’s all, ha, well, it’s complicated, Charlie, I don’t know how else to explain it...but it’s just...complicated.”  She just glared flat murder at him and shook her head ‘no’ with the limited range of movement he’d left her with. “Okay, fine, I’m not  _ just  _ a demon, okay?  Look...look at my arm,” Dean scrolled his flannel up his arm, showing the faded Mark clear as day, “It’s faded because...because, well, I-I kindagaveittoSamandCas, but, but...they’re okay, I swear!  Well, mostly okay, I guess...Look, things are all kindsa fucked up with the three of us and we’re, we’re still trying to figure it all out ourselves and...what the fuck were you and Sam thinking going after the freaking Book of the Damned?!  I mean, Jesus, Charlie! Seriously?!” 

 

Dean huffed a sigh and stopped the pacing he hadn’t realized he’d started to look down as his friend.  Charlie looked completely flummoxed, to the point Dean expected her eyes to cross any second now, “Okay, look, if I let you loose, you gotta promise to can the exorcism.”  Charlie nodded warily, eyes narrowed. Dean waved a hand and released her from the compulsion.

 

Charlie’s breath blew out on deep sigh, making her wince and grab her injured side.  Her death stare when he tried to help her sit up had him backing right back up. She stopped, sweat beading on her brow and breath trembling as she fought to get the pain under control.  After a few long moments when Dean wasn’t sure she wouldn’t pass out, Charlie finally raised her face to him with her signature twinkle in her eye, “You wanna explain to me how you’re a Cylon now, Starbuck?”

  
  
  


“This is a terrible idea, Sam,” Castiel ground out, again, his hand itching to reach up and grasp Sam’s shoulder.  Maybe forcing him to talk face-to-face would shake some sense into the man. If that failed, he could always go with beating some sense into him, like he and Dean often ended up doing when they had reached an impasse.  

 

Sam sighed, his broad back rising and sagging with the movement, “It’s already done,” he murmured as he struck a match and dropped it into the copper bowl on the Library table.  The two stood staring at the summoning circle Sam had chalked out on the other side of the table for a couple of long minutes. Just as Sam started to turn toward Castiel and admit it had been a long shot, his phone rang in his pocket.  Sam plucked it from his jeans, his face wrinkling in confusion when ‘Unknown’ popped up on the screen. Finally turning to Cas, Sam answered and raised the phone to his ear cautiously, “Hello?”

 

“Samuel Winchester,” Rowena’s heavy brogue drifted through the air loud enough Castiel could hear her.  He locked gazes with Sam, rolling his eyes and turning slightly to glare pointedly at the empty summoning circle.  Sam gave an answering huff of exasperation and turned back around.

 

“Rowena, I need to talk to you,” he muttered angrily.

 

“And so I gathered, what with your puny attempt at summoning me, like I’m some common witch or, Morrigan forbid, a  _ demon _ ...Really, Samuel, I expected more from you!  You were supposed to be the  _ smarter _ Winchest-”

 

“Rowena,” Sam growled, turning to watch Castiel cleaning up the remnants of the summoning spell he had used.  Sam sighed heavily into the phone and ran a hand through his hair, gripping a bunch of it at the crown of his head as Castiel stooped to rub out the chalk circle and its accompanying sigils, “I need to talk to you, here, immediately.  I need information.”

 

“And why, praytell, would I rush to  _ your _ side and volunteer said information, hmm?  I have heard no offer of payment or any such enticement-”

 

“I’ll...I’ll make it worth your while,” Sam grunted, eyes finding Castiel’s as they narrowed suspiciously.  Sam focused, trying to keep his intended ‘payment’ behind the wall he had erected in his head once he started to regain some of his demon blood-fueled powers.  He couldn’t stomach the thought of Dean and Cas having complete access to his mind, as much as he loved them. He had always balked at the idea that he might one day lose himself to an invading force, at least, ever since Meg had possessed him all those years ago.  Riding around as a  _ passenger _ inside his own body, even as little as she woke him up for, had been beyond nightmarish.  The whole Gadreel thing, besides the tragedy of Kevin’s murder, which he still felt responsible for, had been only slightly less horrible and only because he’d not known what was going on until it was over.  And Dean had done that, knowing how Sam felt about possession. No, letting his brother and their angel stroll around every hidden corner of his brain was too close to possession for his peace of mind. He’d almost instantly started modeling a wall similar to the one Death had built for him once he realized Dean and Cas were picking up fully-formed thoughts through the connection, only this one had a Sam-only access hatch.

 

He could feel Castiel picking his way through his mind, seemingly aimlessly, but heading straight for the Wall.  He’d have to wrap this up with Rowena soon and get Castiel’s attention off him quickly. “Why Samuel Winchester, are you speaking of a certain long-lost volume of spells?”

 

“You won’t know unless you show up, will you?”  As Sam turned, a sudden shift in the air had him glancing at the doorway to the War room, where Rowena stood.  Her little smirk wobbled only slightly as she stepped fully into the Library. She recovered quickly, but recent developments made her as transparent as glass to Sam, and probably to Cas, although he simply watched her cross the room with undisguised distrust.

 

Rowena swept her gaze up Castiel then over to Sam, her pupils dilating as her breath quickened, “Well,” she sighed, “isn’t this a surprise?”  Sam stood straighter, radiating ‘stay back’ vibes for all he was worth. A slightly slimy-feeling aura surrounded the tiny witch, distorting her petite beauty into something monstrous and malformed.  Sam wanted nothing more than to flinch back from her, his lifetime hunting monsters telling him that this one was deadlier than he had ever suspected but also forcing him to stand his ground under her putrid gaze.  Her steps faltered as she neared him and he could see her hands twitching with the desire to touch him, but she held herself back, barely. “Oh there is...some **_powerful_ ** magic here,” Rowena’s head tipped back on her neck as she inhaled deeply.  Sam felt a skittering touch glance off the connection, like a bird of prey’s talon scratching along the surface and Castiel was suddenly at his side, bolstering the connections outer defences, thickening the skin to keep Rowena’s claws from sinking in.

 

Rowena whined softly and shook herself, bringing her lavender gaze back to the two men.  Her eyes returned to normal but she pushed her lips out in a faux pout, “Boys, after all I’ve done to help you, how can you be so selfish?  Such immense power...there’s plenty enough to let little old Rowena have a wee sip, surely?”

 

“You will keep your rancid hands  _ off _ Sam and Dean, witch, or-”

 

“Or you’ll what?!” Rowena snapped, small jolts of smoky grey lightning flashing throughout her sluggishly oozing aura, “You think you have the juice to smite me, Castiel, Former Angel of the Lord, Current Celestial Boytoy of the Winchesters?” she scoffed.

 

Castiel took a step forward, effectively putting himself between Sam and the obviously posturing witch.  It was ludicrous that Sam meant to have dealings with such a lowly creature, a being whose soul was one step away from being willingly turned into a demon.  Sam’s hand on his shoulder startled him into stepping aside briefly, “Enough, Rowena!” Sam commanded gruffly. “We need some questions we know you have the answers to and we’re...I’m willing to exchange information I know you’ll want. Now, do we have a deal or not?”

 

Rowena’s gaze settled cooly on Sam as she seemed to visibly smooth her hackles back down.  She ignored Castiel completely in favor of flashing what was supposed to be a winning smile at Sam, “Of course, Samuel, I trust  _ you  _ to be fair and equitable in such matters.”  Rowena sat placidly in one of the Library chairs, “You may ask three questions, which I will answer truthfully and to the best of my not inconsiderable knowledge, then you will give me this supposedly valuable information you keep touting.”  The diminutive witch crossed her legs and adjusted her purple velvet gown primly.

 

Sam just wanted this over with, so he ignored the warnings Castiel was projecting through the connection and plowed right into his questions, “Okay, first; what happens when more than one person carries the Mark of Cain?”

 

Rowena’s mouth dropped open slightly before she caught herself and schooled her features into a mask of contemplation, “Well, now there’s an interesting one...hm...I suppose the answer depends on how many people, and what kind of beings, will be sharing the burden of the most powerful curse known to Man...if you’re implying what I  _ think _ you’re implying,” her eyes slid over to Castiel’s neck and back to Sam, taking note of the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly, “Well then I presume these beings would have some kind of supernatural powers of their own to not only keep the effects of the Mark under some kind of control, but also utilize it as a conduit between the bearers.  Does that sound like anyone you know, dearie?” Rowena’s smirk grew as Sam glanced back at Castiel. The angel had stopped blasting warnings through the connection and was instead oddly riveted to every word that tumble from Rowena’s perfectly made up lips.

 

Sam sighed and mentally nudged Castiel, “Maybe...um, alright, second; have you ever heard of the Mishpat’am Ha’aretz?”

 

This time, Rowena didn’t even try to keep her reactions under control.  She gasped and grinned, looking back and forth between the two men in front of her, “Oh my, you Winchesters are always playing in the deep end of the pool, are you not?” She laughed lightly, her slender hands clapping together under her chin.  Sam glared his irritation at her amusement and her smile slid, “Oh yes, well, now you would be getting into the kind of things good old King James would prefer be kept out of the Creation story. After all, how can God be so omniscient if he couldn’t even make up his mind about how and when a soul could be judged?” Rowena rolled her eyes as Castiel bristled at her criticism of his Father, “Oh stow it, Angel Cakes, you know as well as I do that those pompous horses’ arses left out more than they allowed into the Old Testament.  Not that the New is any better, so much lost to time and prejudice! Why, just Tuesday last I was explaining to Jeffrey-”

 

“My, my, but she does tend to prattle on so, doesn’t she boys?”  Crowley’s voice cut his mother off mid-ramble just as his hand landed on her left shoulder.  Sam and Castiel reeled back slightly as a heavy-looking, spiked collar and thick iron chain sprouted around Rowena’s neck in the blink of an eye.  The witch screeched and flailed but the collar and whatever spell Crowley had wrought so quickly kept her solidly under his thumb, literally. Crowley looked up, straight into Castiel’s eyes and winked devilishly, “Ta ta, Feathers.”  

 

“Shit!” Sam yelled as Crowley and Rowena disappeared with a snap of the crossroads demon’s fingers.

 

Castiel stepped in front of Sam, pinning him with an icy glare, his voice laced with his True Voice in an attempt to compel the truth from the younger Winchester, “Sam, what,  **_exactly_ ** , were you going to tell Rowena in exchange for answering your questions?”               

 

Dean had finally been allowed on the couch, but Charlie was still keeping her distance, even after she had near-passed out and Dean had taken the opportunity to reach over and heal her gunshot wound.  She sat silently and let him fill her in on what had happened since he’d let Sam capture him, minus the gory sexual details. Even skirting around those, Charlie had looked at him with obvious distaste and mild disbelief when he tried to reassure her that Sam and Castiel had been willing participants.  The fact that he hadn’t simply killed her but had, in fact, been acting very much himself in his attempt to explain the situation to her was the only reason she hadn’t given the Exorcism rite another try or thrown anymore holy water at him and made a mad dash for freedom. 

 

Charlie had never tried to deny the obviously incest-y vibe the Winchesters gave off.  After learning what she had about their lives (and she had no doubt that what she knew barely scraped the surface of the shit pie that they had been through), she hadn’t ever even felt mild disgust at the thought that they might someday (or had already) found comfort in each other beyond the familial sort.  Honestly, Dean becoming a demon then going after Sam and Castiel was the part of this story she was disgusted by. To become the thing you had dedicated your life to eradicating and then pulling the people you loved more than anyone else into that darkness with you? Well, the Dean she’d known would rather slit his own throat than sink that low.  Charlie needed to see Sam right away. She moved to get a hand on her bag lying on the floor by her end of the couch, going slow and telegraphing her movements. She pulled the bag into her lap and lifted the flap. She tipped the open bag toward Dean, showing him the elaborate curse box nestled inside. She swallowed audibly but spoke firmly, “I have to get this to Sam as soon as possible.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head minutely, “I-I don’t know, Charlie...I think you better just lay low for awhile, let me lead these crazy assholes away from you,” Dean started to reach for the bag but Charlie snatched it back, hugging it to her chest rigidly, her face determined and harder than Dean had ever seen her.

 

“No deal!  Nuh uh, I go with.  I got shot for this frakking thing and I’m gonna see this through to the end,” Dean opened his mouth to argue but Charlie cut him off with a growl.  She stood up, still clasping the bag to her slim chest. In that moment; her skin sallow and marked with random scrapes and bruises, dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, hair lanky and greasy from days of hard running, looking as run down as anyone Dean had ever seen, Charlie radiated a fierceness that was undeniable.  He knew that look. That was the look he’d given Bobby when their surrogate father had suggested burning Sam’s body after Cold Oak. Charlie would not be separated from that bag and its contents until Dean ripped it from her cold, dead hands.

 

“Alright, Red, I guess you’re coming back with me,” he smirked at her surprised face as he stood up and walked around the end of the couch.  He stopped at the door and glanced back at her, “Well? You comin’ or not?” Charlie scrambled around the couch and followed him out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on chapter 14 today and maybe tomorrow, but no promises. I'm doing my best to get this finished because some of my other ideas are starting to plague me.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP, even though I had planned on having this done before I even posted the first chapter.
> 
> Thanks to CoinofStone for all their love and support and encouragement! Muah Muah!


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